Havruta As Modeled Pedagogy: Your People Shall Be My People

By Sharon Meredith Blumenthal

B.A. in English, May 1995, The University of North Carolina at Charlotte M.A. in English, December 2001, Old Dominion University

A Dissertation Submitted to

The Faculty of The Graduate School of Education and Human Development of The George Washington University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Education

May 20, 2012

Dissertation directed by

Brian Casemore Assistant Professor of Curriculum and Pedagogy

The Graduate School of Education and Human Development of The George Washington

University certifies that Sharon Meredith Blumenthal has passed the Final Examination for the degree of Doctor of Education as of March 9, 2012. This is the final and approved form of the dissertation.

Havruta As Modeled Pedagogy: Your People Shall Be My People

Sharon Meredith Blumenthal

Dissertation Research Committee

Brian Casemore, Assistant Professor of Curriculum and Pedagogy,

Dissertation Director

Alan A. Block, Professor of Education, University of Wisconsin-Stout,

Committee Member

Travis Wright, Assistant Professor of Educational Research,

Committee Member

iii Dedication

I dedicate this work to the memory of my grandfather, Rabbi Samuel Sobel, my first havruta . hkrbl qydc rkz “May the memory of the righteous be a blessing.”

I also dedicate this work to my ever-supportive mother, Arleen Ruth Sobel. You are my greatest teacher. Thank you for your guidance, your love, and for believing in me.

I am so very grateful for your encouragement in this and in every endeavor. To Julie Beth

Blumenthal, my sister and best friend, by your graceful example I am inspired to become a better person. Words cannot express my gratitude for your presence in my life. Thank you also to my brother-in-law, John Lomogda, and to my nephews, Jonathan and Eli. I am forever grateful for your love and encouragement. I also dedicate this dissertation to

DT. Thank you for valuing this work as I do and for teaching me how beautiful it is when two people are connected and invested in each other. To Lisa Mendelow, my dear friend and confidant, thank you for always listening and offering the best and most sound advice. I am so lucky to call you a friend. I also dedicate this work to Sadie, a researcher’s best four-legged companion who never left my side as I wrote this dissertation. I owe you many a neglected long walk.

There are few words to describe the impact three of my fellow doctoral students,

James Burns, Joelle Lastica, and Michele Lombard, have had and continue to have on my life. Thank you, “Hermies.” In our work together, I found my voice. Fate brought us together, and I am so fortunate to be able to call you my friends, my teachers, and my colleagues. I dedicate this work to you and look forward to many more years in our hermeneutic circle.

iv To my havruta , Tami Frank, I also dedicate this work. It is as much an honor to learn with you as it is to know you. Thank you for making time for our studies together, for sharing so much of yourself with me, and for enlisting your brother’s expertise on

Talmud as I worked on this project.

Raquel Noriega, I dedicate the work of this dissertation to you. I have learned so

much from your strength and perseverance. You are truly an inspiration. To Carolan

Doiny, I have not met a more caring person, and I thank you for all your thoughtfulness

over the years.

I also dedicate this work to friends Pamela Davis and Joe Kurt along with their

children. Your support of me as I wrote this dissertation was unending. Thank you for

your visits, phone calls, care packages, and sweet notes. To Kim Bedinger and Illana

Lancaster, thank you for being such thoughtful, encouraging, and devoted friends. I

dedicate this work to you.

ytlk#h ydmlm lkm “From all my teachers, I have learned” (Tehilim 119:99).

This dissertation would not have been possible without the help of Dr. Alan A. Block.

Thank you, my teacher, for sharing your wisdom with me. You have taught me how to be in relationship and to share of myself. Each week I looked forward to our conversations, and I am forever grateful to you for investing so completely in my work. I dedicate this dissertation to you. I am honored to know you and to have learned from you.

To Rabbi Zvi Teitelbaum and Rebbetzin Esti Teitelbaum, I also dedicate this dissertation to you. Thank you for teaching me Jewish ethics in your classes, at your

Shabbos table, and in your very presence.

v Finally, I am greatly indebted to “Rabbi Stein” and “Mr. Rosen,” the participants of this study, and dedicate this work to their havruta . I feel privileged to have been able to observe you learning together and am honored that you included me in your partnership. hbr hdwt

vi Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge and thank my committee chair, Dr. Brian Casemore,

for his guidance in the work of this dissertation. I especially thank you for being open to a

topic not often written about in curriculum studies and for dedicating so much energy to

understanding the concepts particular to Judaism and to Jewish pedagogy. Over the years

that I have been engaged in this work, you have dedicated much of your time to hosting

conversations with me on English education, and I thank you for that and for directing me

to thinkers in the field whose writing has enabled me to draw connections between Judaic

studies and hermeneutics. To Dr. Travis Wright, thank you for introducing me to the beautiful world of qualitative research. Through your instruction, I have come to see

myself as a member of the qualitative research community. Dr. Alan A. Block, thank you

so much for your tremendous support throughout this project. I am extremely grateful for

the time you committed to discussing my work and for your careful reading all of my

many drafts. Thank you for mentoring me; it is such a great honor to be your student.

Thank you, Dr. Nicholas Paley, for encouraging me to think creatively about the presentation of research and for your enthusiasm for my topic of study. To Rabbi Steven

M. Glazer, I am very appreciative of our conversations together; thank you for teaching

me how to bridge the gap between the religious and the academic.

Finally, I acknowledge the participants of this study, “Rabbi Stein” and “Mr.

Rosen.” Thank you for welcoming me into your havruta and for teaching me so much about the power of partnership in study. This project would not exist without you both, and I am very grateful for your participation.

vii Abstract of the Dissertation

Havruta as Modeled Pedagogy: Your People Shall be My People

This research study investigates the havruta , a model of textual interpretation from the Jewish learning tradition, from the perspective of two participants who study within this model to reveal the havruta’s import as a study practice. The research questions guiding this study are: What is the experience of learning in a particular havruta ? and What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies

concerning the interpretive process?

The Epistemological and Theoretical Perspective guiding this research study is

hermeneutics, drawing on hermeneutic theory from Judaic scholarship, philosophical

hermeneutics, and curriculum studies and the work of Ricoeur (1981, 1991, 1995), Block

(1995, 2004, 2007, 2009), de Castell (1999), Sumara (1996, 2002) , Doll (2000), and

Jardine (2006). Data collection methods included observations and a final triangulating

interview (Seidman, 1991; Creswell, 2003).

Jewish hermeneutics’ concept of text mediating dialogue; philosophical hermeneutics’ prioritizing of universal experience of textual study (Ricoeur, 1981), and curriculm studies’ interests in the relationships between “language, culture, learning, and teaching” (Sumara, 2002, p. 14) and in interpreting and reinterpreting educational experience in sites of learning methodologically inform this study.

Following ten observation sessions of the men learning together in their study dyad, interpretive data analysis revealed the following themes associated with the two men’s experience of learning in their havruta : the use of challenge and debate; the

viii demonstration of an ethic of care and concern for each other; the employ of humor to diffuse discomfort, mollify tension, and to ensure humility; the abiding by hermeneutic rules of interpretation; and the maintenance of a dedication to the larger community.

The themes identified reveal the potential use value of the havruta in a literature

classroom, and the study concludes with a discussion that theorizes methods of

employing this traditional model of textual study in a contemporary secular classroom

setting.

ix Table of Contents

Dedication ...... iv

Acknowledgments ...... vii

Abstract of the Dissertation ...... viii

Table of Contents ...... x

Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 1 The Book of Ruth ...... 3 Overview ...... 8 Background ...... 11 The Jewish value system ...... 11 The tradition ...... 16 The havruta ...... 18 Purpose and Research Questions ...... 23 Significance ...... 23 Theoretical Context ...... 24 Methodology ...... 25 Limitations and Delimitations ...... 25 Definitions ...... 26

Chapter 2: Theoretical Context ...... 27 Jewish Hermeneutics ...... 27 Secularizing Hermeneutics ...... 41 Philosophical Hermeneutics ...... 44 The Act of Reading in Curriculum Studies ...... 48 The Havruta and Curriculum Studies ...... 58

Chapter 3: Methods ...... 63 Epistemological and Theoretical Perspective ...... 64 Research Questions ...... 67 Research Design ...... 67 Data-Collection Methods ...... 75 Observations 1-10: Havruta sessions ...... 75 Paired interview: Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen ...... 76 Data Analysis ...... 84 Ethical Considerations ...... 87

Chapter 4: Results ...... 89 The Choice of Havruta ...... 91

x Entering the Tradition ...... 93 Observing the Havruta ...... 96 ty#)rb (Bereishit ) Genesis ...... 98 twm# (Shemot ) Exodus ...... 113 )rqyw (Vayikra ) Leviticus ...... 126 rbdmb (Bamidbar ) Numbers ...... 139

Chapter 5: Interpretations, Conclusions, and Recommendations ...... 148 Myrbd (Devarim ) Deuteronomy ...... 148

References ...... 186

Appendices ...... 194 A. Informed Consent Agreement ...... 194 B. A Page of Talmud from tractate Sukkah ...... 195

xi Chapter 1: Introduction

In my grandfather’s home that was my childhood home, one room appears more intensely in my memory than any other: hyrpsh (ha’sifria ), the library . The room itself

was not ornate, but rectangular in shape with one of the short sides of its perimeter

adorned with a round stained glass window depicting the symbols of the Jewish festivals

and holy days of the year. Its only other furnishings consisted of a modest, tall-backed

leather and wood stool and a cherry wood writing desk with accompanying chair.

In my grandfather’s home, my childhood memory recalls the rich smell of leather

and the dyed sunlight streaming through the window and onto the oak floor, but what I

remember most and what made this room a sifria , were the floor-to-ceiling shelves of sacred texts, leather-bound in blue, black, and brown with Hebrew and English titles embossed in gold—with the wear on their bindings, they all gave evidence of having been studied.

In my grandfather’s home, no conversation started or ended without the presence of a book or a pile of books, or even a reference to a book—no unfamiliar word went un- translated, undefined, un-contextualized. First my grandfather would praise the text,

“Look how beautiful this is…the language…the vocabulary…look how it is written .”

Then he would read from the text, “Listen to this!” Finally he would ask, “Why is this word used instead of its synonym? How do we understand this image? What does the text really mean?” My grandfather’s allusions sparked a desire in me to uncover their origins;

my grandfather’s symbols begged my interpretation. Because of the love I had for my

grandfather and the relationship we shared, I remember experiencing a feeling of urgency

1 to read everything that he read and that he urged me to read. Connecting to the books that my grandfather loved meant connecting to my grandfather whom I loved.

In my grandfather’s library, on many afternoons, my grandfather, a Rabbi, taught my sister and me hrwt (Torah ), “The Five Books of Moses.” Despite the fact that my sister and I lived with our grandfather and considered his home our home, the sifria held a reverence that kept us from playing there. Nonetheless, the room was not off-limits to us. If our grandfather was learning in his library, which was typically the case when he was home, and we together or singly walked in and stood close to him, an invitation would be extended to look at what he was reading. It was then that he would begin an impromptu lesson. Though it would seem that a little girl would much rather have played than learned, because I loved being with my grandfather and his books, I regularly made my way into his sifria . Sometimes we would learn in the library or at the kitchen table and sometimes we would sit on the front steps of our home, but always our learning began with my grandfather reading from the book he had chosen for that lesson while tracing the words with the fingers of his beautiful hands as he read them. His questions about passages we learned together most often began with, “Why?”, and as we read and discussed the stories and the laws, I learned the great roles that questioning, discussion, and argumentation have in Jewish study.

These early experiences of textual study became a part of the manner in which I learned to approach texts, and when I reflect on the way in which I teach literature, I recognize traces of them in my pedagogy: reading the text against the grain; prioritizing questions above answers; and active listening from which questions are crafted and from which answers are organically revealed. These strategies were not taught to me explicitly

2 by my grandfather. Rather, I learned them as we sat side-by-side—so close, in fact, that I was enveloped by the smell of coffee on his breath, my grandfather holding a book in his protective hands and lingering over significant passages to ask a myriad of questions to which we would discuss possible answers. In these moments of study my grandfather loved me as he loved his books, and I was cradled like a book in my grandfather’s arms.

It was in these moments of intimate study—the closeness of my beloved teacher, the comfort of our learning space, and the intimacy of our conversation—that I learned from his example to teach as he did and to read and to have relationships as he taught me.

The Book of Ruth

My grandfather’s early lessons in connection draw me to the Bible story of Ruth, and since I was a little girl, her story has been one of my Biblical favorites. Though as a child I likely could not have articulated the text’s appeal, as an adult, I understand that my attraction is to the partnership of the two main characters. In the narrative of their relationship I see my own relationship with my grandfather—a narrative of trust, respect, and loyalty that in my grandfather’s and my case, cultivated a mutual love for textual study. The Book of Ruth appeals to me because it exemplifies the Jewish ethic of being in relationship. The text portrays this ethic, and the textual study in which I engaged in my grandfather’s library developed such a relationship. I am drawn to the text of the Book of

Ruth because in it I read the story of my life and my pedagogy. Relationship sits not only at the heart of the scriptural text but at the heart of teaching.

The Book of Ruth is set during the time of the Judges—approximately 1100

B.C.E.—amidst a famine in Bethlehem. Israelites Elimelech and his wife Naomi leave

Bethlehem with their two sons, Maholn and Chilion, for the neighboring land of Moab

3 where their two sons marry Moabite princesses, Ruth and Orpah. In Moab, the family abandons its Jewish community, and the text demands reprisal for this abandonment.

First Elimelech dies, and shortly thereafter, his two sons also die. Following the deaths of

Elimelech, Maholn, and Chilion, destitute, Naomi decides to return to Bethlehem, and she insists that her two daughters-in-law likewise return to their families in Moab. Orpah leaves, but Ruth prioritizes her relationship with Naomi by vowing allegiance to her mother-in-law and to the Jewish people, and she travels with Naomi to Bethlehem saying, ym( Km( Nyl) ynylt r#)bw Kl) yklt r#) l) yk (ki el asher taylchi aylaych uva’asher talini alin amaych ami ) “Your people shall be my people” Ruth 1:16. Upon the women’s return to Naomi’s homeland, Naomi encourages Ruth to glean from the fields of the older woman’s cousin-by-marriage, Boaz. When Boaz learns of Ruth’s loyalty to her mother-in-law and that she is gleaning on behalf of his cousin’s widow, Boaz instructs his workers to intentionally leave grain behind their collection and insists that

Ruth exclusively glean in his fields throughout the barley harvest, and she does so.

According to the law of levirate marriage which states that if a man dies without

having had children with his wife, his widow is to be married by her deceased husband’s brother, Boaz is one of two male relatives obligated to marry Ruth. As this is the case,

Naomi sends Ruth to visit Boaz at night in his threshing house to solidify their union.

While there, Ruth wakes Boaz by uncovering his feet, and he indicates his desire to

marry Ruth with the symbolic gesture of spreading a cloak over her. The following day,

in an effort to ensure that he has not usurped another’s right to marry Ruth, Boaz

approaches the other male relative in a position obligated to abide by the law of levirate

marriage to marry Ruth, and the man relinquishes his place in line. Boaz and Ruth marry

4 and continue Elimelech’s line which, three generations later, includes the great King

David.

From its beginning, the text of The Book of Ruth presents Elimelech and Naomi

leaving their homeland of Judah and settling in Moab, and throughout the text I see parallels to my own experience and to the experience of my family. In much the same

way as Elimelech and Naomi leave famine-stricken Judah, my grandfather—son of

Russian immigrants—left the poverty of his parents’ home to join the armed services to

ensure a better life for his family. The text is unclear about how dedicated to Judaism

Elimelech remained while in Moab; as for my grandfather, though, joining the United

States Navy as much signaled a commitment to his American countrymen as his position

as a Jewish chaplain demonstrated his commitment to the Jewish people. In essence, my

grandfather displayed a commitment to the text of his Jewish life, and in his actions, he

taught our family both to be grateful for the country that embraced us and to maintain our

religious identity.

Continuing the parallel of the Biblical story to my own, while in their adopted

home of Moab, Elimelech and Naomi’s two sons marry Moabite princesses, Ruth and

Orpah. Though the move to Moab initially benefits the family, within ten years of its time

in exile the family is penniless and Elimelech and his two sons have died, leaving Naomi

a lone stranger among the Moabite people. Once a wealthy wife and proud mother,

Naomi has become a destitute and childless widow with two partner-less daughters-in-

law, yet she does not have to be alone in the world, and this knowledge prompts her to

make the decision to reconnect with the Jewish people, her people. Having lost his wife

in her mid-forties and with his three daughters living on their own, my grandfather too,

5 experienced an aloneness akin to Naomi’s. Though the situation by which my grandfather was united with my mother, my sister, and me was quite different from that which prompted Naomi to reconnect with the Jewish people of Bethlehem, both Naomi’s determination to return to her people and my grandfather’s insistence that we come to live with him during our own difficult time demonstrated equally deep commitments to relationship.

In the story of Ruth, after Naomi begs her two daughters-in-law to return to their families, Orpah kisses Naomi and leaves, but Ruth remains with her mother-in-law. It is in the simple act of committing to a life with Naomi—of choosing connection—that Ruth displays a loyalty to her existing relationship with Naomi and a commitment to establishing a new connection with the Jewish people. In much the same way, by moving into my grandfather’s home, my mother reestablished the level of relationship she shared with her father when she was a girl and set the stage for that same intensity of relationship between her daughters and her father. That my grandfather embraced this opportunity to connect with his granddaughters was evident in the moments of connection we shared in his library. Further, when Naomi gratefully accepts Ruth’s offer of commitment, just as my grandfather was honored by my mother’s assent to resettle in his home, not only do the younger women express their loyalty, but both elders affirm their reciprocal devotion.

In the Biblical story, upon the women’s arrival in Bethlehem, Naomi directs Ruth to glean from the fields of one of Elimelech’s family members, Boaz. However, as opposed to using the second person command—Klt (talech ) “you will go”—with her daughter-in-law, Naomi refers to Ruth in the first person: hkl) (aylcha ), “I will go.” It

6 is as if Naomi has so embraced her connection with Ruth that Naomi imagines herself to be Ruth. In much the same way, when people would inquire about my sister and me, my

grandfather would often claim us for his daughters; our closeness made him believe us to be his daughters, and I remember loving him so much that I felt honored to be considered

one of his children and to be connected to him in such an immediate way.

Metaphorically, I am Ruth. Ruth moves among the gleaners in Boaz’s fields, and as

instructed by Naomi, the young widow gathers scraps of barley to nourish her

mother-in-law and herself. My grandfather, in Naomi’s role, taught me to glean for

nourishment, too, but from the text, and as we sat together with a book between us, the

text sustained me in much the same way as the barley sustained Ruth and Naomi.

Identifying the personal in Ruth’s story offers me a more intimate relationship

with the text that bears her name. At the deepest level of interpretation is the personal,

and yet my identification of Ruth’s story as personally meaningful did not happen in my

isolated study of the Book of Ruth . Rather, it came as a result of relationship. In sitting

with a )twrbx (havruta ) “study partner” reading Ruth’s story, I was challenged to

answer questions about why I am drawn to her experience. As I answered each question

asked of me in the discussion in which I engaged with another reader of the text, I moved

closer to articulating the personal meaning Ruth’s story held for me and I came to

understand the power of relationship in reading.

My havruta asked, “What is it about Ruth that draws you to her text? What is the story of Ruth really about? Why is the Jewish ethic of being in relationship of value to you ?” and “How does this ethic affect your pedagogy?”

Through dialogue with another, I began to acknowledge the story’s deeper and

more personal significance. Like Naomi who feels as though she is so close to Ruth that

she is her daughter-in-law, our conversation of, around, and through the text prompted

me to embrace Ruth’s story so completely that I began to claim Ruth’s story as my own.

The text, therefore, was mediated by dialogue with another—through relationship.

The story of Ruth communicates the importance of connection and relationship as

well as the consequences of severing connection. These lessons are precisely why I am

drawn to it. As The Book of Ruth demonstrates that there is mutual benefit through partnership with another, in this way, Ruth’s story may be interpreted as a pedagogical

metaphor. When Elimelech separates himself from his community by moving his family

to Moab, he might be understood to personify the American model of education in which

students in the classroom work in isolation. Though the secluded student may make some

gains, he or she is limited by singular and unchallenged thinking. In contrast, Ruth and

Naomi’s relationship represents a Jewish model of educating. Through their dialogue, the pair establishes a partnership in which they are mutually invested and from which both

women benefit. The partnership model is a Jewish model. For me, it was through textual

study with another that I identified these themes as they arose. At its core, the Jewish

tradition of textual study encourages individual connections to text through dialogue with

another. The question that emerges is what happens in the traditional study pair that

cannot happen when one studies text alone.

Overview

Central to Judaism is the study of text, of Torah .

To live as a Jew is to live in accordance with G-d’s 1 laws, and G-d’s laws are revealed through the act of reading and interpreting Torah . One must understand the

words of text in order to effect practice, therefore, textual study is central to Jewish practice. For Jews, deep commitments to text and to study are fundamental. In the Book of Micah 6:8, the prophet Micah answers the Israelites’ questions about what G-d

requires of them: “Only to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with thy

G-d!” Because G-d engages in a dialogue with the Jewish people via the oral law, now

written down to preserve its message, it is only through textual interpretation that Jews

learn how to meet G-d’s ethical standards for behavior. In this way, the act of

interpretation is an ethical act.

Further, dialogue is greatly encouraged in Judaism as a means of better

understanding the text. Barry W. Holtz (1984), the Jewish thinker and Dean of the

Graduate School of Education at The Jewish Theological Seminary, explains that from

the earliest educational experiences of a hby#y (yeshiva ) student, the reading and

studying of texts is done in rooms filled with as much discussion as reading, making the

two almost indistinguishable. As dialogue is prioritized in Jewish textual study, much

study is done with a partner in the havruta. There are several reasons for the

encouragement of discussion around texts; discussion reduces the risk of singularly

narrow interpretations; minimizes the event of misreading; and establishes a sense of

community—a feeling of belonging to a group with a shared canon. The uniqueness of

the learning partnership of the havruta is in the equal commitments each member makes

1 Jewish law discourages writing out the name of the deity so that it may not be defaced, obliterated, or destroyed accidentally. Throughout this dissertation, a hyphen will separate the “G” and “d” of this word. 9 to his or her partner and to the sacred text, and it is precisely these simultaneous commitments to another and to the text that is of particular interest to me.

Weekly for some and daily for others, traditional Jews make time for religious textual study. Most often study is conducted in pairs that meet in synagogue study halls and other spaces conducive to study or, as with my study partner, remotely via phone or internet video. The practice of lifelong, regularly studying text with another is so much a part of being Jewish that it is not considered remarkable in the Jewish community, yet it is unique in the world of pedagogical practice. Though a variety of centuries-old established methods of interpreting text in the Jewish tradition are widely-practiced within the Jewish community’s educational institutions, primary among them being the yeshiva , these methods are virtually unknown in the wider educational field. It is the fact that such an effective practice is sequestered in the Jewish community that inspires me to theorize about its use value in a larger educational context. To that end, this study employs a hermeneutic theoretical perspective to investigate one method of textual study from the Jewish tradition, the havruta , in an effort to reveal the way in which the members of this study dyad experience this practice. In the relationship of the havruta , commitment to textual study exists with commitment to the other with whom one studies: commitment to text is commitment to the Other, and reading becomes not only an intellectual practice but an ethical one as well. Given the centrality of textual study in

English education, one important aim of this study is to consider the potential implications of the havruta , the study partnership, for curriculum studies and public pedagogy.

Background

The Jewish value system. Above all else, Torah study is the most important endeavor of a Jew’s life because it is through study that one learns how to live ethically among others. Within the Jewish community, many buildings are identified with two words, the first of which is tyb (beit), or “house,” and the second of which is the content

central to each building. For instance, lk) tyb (beit ochel) , is “restaurant,” translated

word-for-word as “house of food” and Mylwx tyb (beit holim) is “hospital,” or “house of patients.” Naming places in this manner conveys an emotional attachment and a sense of belonging; in essence, each citizen is housed or sheltered by the structures of his or her community.

Demonstrating the great importance of study and of the support and maintenance of houses of study, Jewish law reciprocally obligates each citizen to support his or her community and its institutions: “a percentage of everything in one’s possession must be given to help support the social structure and its functioning” (Block, 2004, p. 84). Most important, however, are the requirement of education and the integral role of it in community building. Indeed, a community should not be established without regard for spaces for learning. The Talmud proclaims, “Residence is forbidden in any town in which there is no school for the young!” (Berkowitz, 1905, p. 176). Of course without residence, there is no town. Maimonides, the twelfth century preeminent Jewish thinker and scholar often repeated second century Jewish scholar Raish Lakish’s insistence that,

“The entire universe is maintained only by the breath of school children” (Wirth, 1943, p.

687). Based on this belief, education sits at the center of creation. In another example, the lyrics of the popular late nineteenth century Yiddish song by M. M. Warshawsky, “ Oyfn

Pripetshik ,” communicates the centrality of teaching children the alphabet for the primary purpose of their being able to read Torah , “On the hearth a little fire is burning, and it is hot in the house, and the Rebbe is teaching the little children the Aleph Bet” (Silverman,

1996, p. 30). The final stanza Silverman (1996) translates, “When you grow weary, children, and burdened with exile, you will find comfort and strength within this Jewish alphabet” (p. 30). This lyric expresses how learning to read provides Jewish children with more than just a practical skill; it reminds them of their cultural, communal, and historical roots, and because Torah teaches children how to live ethically, it is a source of connection to others within the Jewish community.

Shared support of community structures, including schools, and reciprocal responsibility to G-d and to the Jewish people are central to Jewish living and to Jewish learning. In the traditional Jewish community, all are expected to either engage in study or be “enjoined to provide the means whereby others [can] do so” (Wirth, 1943, p. 687).

Further, wherever there is study, a house of study exists. In this way, through his or her actions, each Jew may transform an undesignated space into one of learning. The Jewish belief is that G-d is ever-present. Block (2004) writes of prayer and study as synonymous in Judaism; therefore, the act of learning transforms any space into a #rdm tyb (beit midrash ), or “house of study,” and offers every student of text a partner in learning: G-d.

In Judaism, study and prayer are akin in that they are both sacred acts that establish relationship.

The principal text of Jewish curriculum is Torah . In referencing this collective text, it is important to note that Torah may be understood both narrowly and broadly. At its most narrow, Torah refers to the Pentateuch, the written law, or the five books of

Moses: ty#r)b (Bereishit ) Genesis , twm# (Shemot ) Exodus , )rqyw (Vayikra )

Leviticus , rbdmb (Bamidbar ) Numbers , and Myrbd (Devarim ) Deuteronomy . At its broadest, Torah refers to the entire body of Jewish teachings including the written law as

well as the oral law which is comprised of the hn#m (mishna ), #rdm (midrash ), and

dwmlt (Talmud ), and legal commentaries are often additionally included when speaking broadly of Torah . In Judaism the studying of the primary sacred text is truly the studying

of multiple texts, and Judaism supports the notion that Jewish study is always conducted

in dialogue in its equal valuing of the primary sacred text and all of the subsequent texts

that comment on the primary text. In following this tradition of equally valued texts, for

use in this context, the broadest definition of Torah will be used.

Literally, the word Torah is translated as “a teaching” and is G-d’s teaching to the

Jewish people. When Jews pray, we communicate with G-d, and Torah is how G-d

reciprocates communication with us. It is well understood that for Jews, “study has been

exalted…to the plane of worship—the offering of the intellect in the service of the

divine” (Berkowitz, 1905, p. 176). Therefore, study is a holy act.

Behind Jewish curriculum is a deceivingly simple idea: One is what one studies.

As Block (2009) writes, in studying Talmud “the Rabbis are concerned with elaborating

the conduct of the activities of which daily life is comprised” (p. 147), and he references

Leviticus , 19:2 as justification for this assertion: “You shall be holy because I, your G-d,

am holy.” The question then is how one becomes holy, and the answer for Jews rests in

interminable study of Torah .

As study for Jews is a lifelong endeavor, Jews set up schools everywhere.

Wherever we ask meaningful questions and wherever we inquire, we create a beit

13 midrash , translated literally as “house of inquiry” or school. In these spaces, students’ main endeavors are to inquire—through reading, questioning, and deliberating with the text and with each other— and to work to embody G-d’s messages. The act is both personal and communal. Individually, readers fulfill their obligation “to discover the author” (Block, 2004, p. 148) by engaging in prayerful dialogue with G-d and by offering their study in exchange for G-d’s teachings. Students have Moses’ written hand in the form of the Pentateuch to learn from, but at the same time it is not all and it is not enough. The text is silent and must be articulated; thus the havruta is demanded. There exists an oral law which Moses passed on to the generation after him and which is as sacred as the written law, and to better understand G-d’s messages, students must engage with each other in dialogue that mediates these texts. In the house of inquiry, reading is a communal act in which students participate in the hermeneutic processes of interpretation, deliberation, questioning, and reinterpretation. In this way, reading in havruta with its dual relationship to text and to another is an ethical act.

Value is placed on the collective in Judaism; as an example, Jewish textual study occurs within a social context and honors multiple perspectives (Pace, 1992). The yeshiva and synagogue study halls exemplify this habit in that they are regularly filled with young and old men learning together in pairs at all hours of the day and night. These men could study anywhere, but they choose to learn among others who collectively bring sanctity to the act of their study, and throughout Jewish history there are many examples of collective study that demonstrate this dedication to the act of communal learning.

In an example of significant pairings in Judaism, between 57 B.C.E. and 30 C.E., five sets of twgwz (zugot ) or “respected pairs” of Rabbis of Jewish law governed the

Jewish high court called the Nyrdhns (Sanhedrin ). Yehoshua ben Perahiah and Nittai the Arbelite were one of these pairs, or zugot . In twb) yqrp (Pirke Avot ), 1:6, the

“Sayings of the Fathers,” Yehoshua ben Perahiah is noted as declaring,

rbx Kl hnqw br Kl h#( (asay l’cha rav u’kneh l’cha haver ), translated, “Select for yourself a rav [Rabbi-teacher]; acquire for yourself a haver [peer-colleague].” This declaration is understood to mean that students of Torah and Talmud , or “book of Jewish laws,” require the company of at least two parties in their quest for textual understanding: a teacher and a peer. The first, a Rabbi, translated as “teacher,” “sees the totality of the

Talmud and helps us understand broader concepts, ideas, and approaches as they apply”

(Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 315) to the text. Though the teacher is acknowledged to possess more experience with the texts under study, he or she is as much of a learner in the relationship as is his or her student. Block (2007) recounts the story of the great second century teacher, Rabbi Yohanan, and his student, Raish Lakish, as an example.

The havruta pair was known for engaging in intense disagreements around the Talmud; the student “would raise twenty-four objections” (Block, 2007, p. 142) to twenty four assertions of his teacher. Following a rift in the pair’s relationship, Raish Lakish becomes ill and dies. Following Lakish’s death, and in an effort to revive Rabbi Yohanan’s spirit over the loss of his student, the Rabbis send Rabbi Yohanan a surrogate havruta who passively agrees with all that the Rabbi says. This perturbs the great Rabbi Yohanan, who demands that his new havruta argue with him. Rabbi Yohanan screams, “When I would make a halakhic [legal] pronouncement, [Lakish] would challenge it with twenty-four questions, and I would answer them, and by that dialogue, the true understanding would emerge!” He laments that he cannot be a teacher unless he is also a student; without

Lakish’s questions and arguments and without dialogue between the two members of the havruta , Rabbi Yohanan remains unchallenged and his learning ceases. The second

requirement Yehoshua ben Perahiah suggests a student must acquire is a colleague-peer

or a haver, from the same root as that from which havruta stems. With a haver , “there is

a coming together of concerns for each other and a joining together of each other’s

strengths” (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 317). Jews are greatly encouraged to study texts in pairs or small groups; in the collective, or at least with one other person, there exists the

opportunity to participate in the community and in its dialogue.

The tradition. Throughout Jewish history, reading and study has been the primary occupation of Rabbinic scholars. Though reading might be typically thought of as a passive occupation, reading in the Jewish tradition is anything but passive; it is “a passionate and active grappling” (Holtz, 1984, p. 16) with text, presenting the “challenge of uncovering secret meanings, unheard-of-explanations, matters of great weight and significance” (p. 16) in an attempt to understand as closely as possible how to live an ethical life. The process is hermeneutic, active and interactive with students of Torah engaged with each other in the process of making meaning. My own study of the Book of

Ruth’s text attests to this hermeneutic; from my initial study with my grandfather to my more recent exploration with another havruta , these interactions mediated my personal making of meaning in Ruth’s narrative.

Exclusive lone study is frowned upon in Judaism. Rabbi Norman Lamm (1989), the Jewish philosopher and former president of Yeshiva University expresses the Jewish explanation of danger in singular and unchallenged thinking: “It is better to have a teacher—‘even one who is not truly adequate’—than to study by oneself” (p. 30). Study

16 with a partner makes the act of learning public; it holds students accountable for what they learn. Further, study with a partner brings to the fore tqwlxm (machloket ) or debate; with two students, there is no single way of thinking, and each partner is challenged to approach the topic under study from multiple directions. As opposed to educational models in which students are encouraged to pursue answers to questions,

Jewish education prioritizes questions over answers. Intrinsic to Jewish pedagogy is the act of questioning—an act that by its implementation teaches that learning is interminable. Study with a partner fuels questioning. Rabbi Dov Gartenberg (2005) writes, “Judaism, through the study of our sacred texts, affirms the dialectic, a search for clarification in a world of uncertainty. Jewish study is all about struggle, searching and questioning” (para. 1). Questions, by their inherent nature of exchange, imply an intellectual hierarchy. The asker inquires of what he or she is naïve; the answerer informs. On the surface, it appears as though the one asking a question is the least wise.

Yet when students commit themselves to the role of students, they take responsibility for offering that which they know even as they simultaneously inquire about that which they lack understanding. In this way they demonstrate their possessed knowledge in tandem with their wisdom about the parameters of knowledge; they accept that their limitations are not the limitations. The questioning student can achieve greater understanding through his engagement with another. Through its questioning and debate, the dyad reveals multiple possibilities of explanations for the topic under study.

Solitary study encourages myopic thinking. G-d proclaims in the Book of

Jeremiah , 23:29, “I put My words into your mouth as fire,” and Rabbah ben Hannah of the first century interpreted this to mean that just as fire cannot self-ignite, the Torah

17 cannot come to life for one who studies alone; it is only in the fiery interchange between students of Torah that questions emerge and learning results. Study with a partner challenges students’ thinking. In interpreting Proverbs , 27:17, “Iron sharpens iron,”

Rabbi Hama ben Hanina of the first century said, “This is to teach you that just as in the case of one iron sharpening the other so also do two scholars sharpen each other's minds.” As my grandfather taught me from such a young age, study is a way of life and community; it benefits all who engage in it and connects one to another, establishing relationship.

The havruta . Words in the Hebrew language typically consist of a three-

consonant root that communicates the essence of that word and can aid in understanding

not just a word’s denotative meaning but the varying connotations of the word as well.

The word havruta stems from the Hebrew word rbx (haver ), meaning “friend,” and is

translated as “fellowship” or “partnership.” The word haver , in turn, is an outgrowth of

the Hebrew root which means “joined together,” or the connection between two separate

entities. From the ideas of joining together friends and partners, the havruta has come to be described as a “friend-colleague,” a “peer-colleague,” or a “study partner.” The

significance of this word, with its inherent and meaningful roots, rests precisely in the

concept of friendship and partnership.

The concept of the havruta is not uni-dimensional, and even the grammatical

structures of the word itself communicate its multi-dimensionality; it can be employed as

a noun, as a verb, and as an adjective. For example, a person can be a havruta. She can

learn with another person in fellowship and be a member of that partnership, making her

a havruta. Additionally, she can possess a havruta, as in, “I study with my havruta ,

Tami.” A havruta can also describe the experience and act of learning together; one might indicate that he “learns in havruta or ‘ b’havruta ,’” and as an adjective, for

instance, in describing a learning strategy employed in the beit midrash or Jewish house

of study, one might discuss the impact of “ havruta learning.”

One complication of defining a term like havruta emerges from its existence as an

incorporated practice of the yeshiva , experienced by students through their witnessing

and participating in it but not explicitly articulated. The practice is engaged in but

untaught, and its composite elements are likewise un-discussed; nonetheless, there exists

great similarity in the ways in which its enactment manifests itself from yeshiva to yeshiva . Across the world, each yeshiva student studies with his havruta “understanding

and explicating the arguments and points made” (Helmreich, 1986, p. 59) in the )rmg

(Gemara ), the section of the Talmud that contains Rabbinic commentary and analysis of

the oral law called the hn#m (Mishnah ). Helmreich (1986) depicts these pairs as universally sitting at long wooden tables piled with books that indicate the members’ practices of reviewing commentaries and references in the #mwx (Chumash ), “the Bible,”

or other texts of the Talmud . Within the beit midrash , or “house of study,” the students

learn in “a noisy room dominated by the sound of loud voices as the students argue back

and forth over this and that point…even occasionally banging their fists down on a

nearby table or shtender [lectern] as they seek to persuade one another of the merits of

their arguments” (Helmreich, p. 60). In addition to the reference texts on the desks and

overflowing bookshelves that line the walls, the havruta keeps close at hand the notes

taken from its Rabbi’s lectures; passionately the pair studies together making clear its

investment in learning.

Without question, the uniqueness of the havruta rests in the dynamic between its members; in the relationship of the two parties of the havruta there is an emotional bond which intensifies the experience of learning together. As partners, the two individuals engaged in study care for each other and acknowledge and honor each other’s strengths.

There is also a negotiated manner of interacting; “the havruta provides for give-and-take with a peer…one peer can give tremendously to another…and [each] can receive from

[the] other on a social, as well as an intellectual level” (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 317).

Elie Holzer (2006), Co-Director of the Beit Midrash Research Project at the Mandel

Center at Brandeis University where havruta learning is conducted between teacher candidates, describes the experience of being in havruta as an event in which the learner engages in “a slow, meticulous open investigation and deciphering of the text, helping his study partner, weighing alternative interpretations, arguing with his study partner about possible interpretations and ‘arguing with’ the content of the text” (p. 184). At the core of havruta learning, the havruta members teach and learn and both benefit from the exchange (Brown & Malkus, 2007). The relationship between members of the havruta is an ethical one of mutual responsibility. Personally, I held as much responsibility for my role in partnership with my grandfather as he held for his; my grandfather challenged me to think just beyond what I understood of the world, and I challenged him with the curiosity of a child. The concern is not that each member of the havruta should understand the text in the same way or even as well but rather the emphasis is on each havruta working as diligently to understand the text as he or she is to question his or her havruta’s understanding of the text. This, in turn, leads to greater comprehension—each partner gains better insight into the text as a result of working with his or her partner.

Though it is possible to define the havruta as a “study partner,” as there is no

similar practice in English-speaking educational settings, no English word—and

therefore, perhaps, no pedagogical practice fully encompasses the experience of learning

as a havruta , with a havruta , or in the havruta . Despite the encouragement in the tradition that sacred Jewish texts are to be studied with at least one other person, and despite the numerous references to paired and group study in the history of the great Jewish scholars, no previously written definitive written history exists on the havruta . Students of the yeshiva are encouraged to participate in the havruta study model verbalized as harkening back to the days of Abbaye and Rava, two prominent Talmudic scholars of the third century who together ruled on legal inconsistencies, yet there is no record of the way in which the two learned together. Some Rabbis “view the havruta method as so rooted in

tradition that it is halkhically mandated [based on Jewish law]” (Segal, 2003, p. 5), but

there is “hardly a clear legal dictum” (p. 5) for the exercise; it is simply a method that

“was practiced, or at least advocated, by the Talmud” (p. 5). The havruta , as a pedagogical model, has been passed down from previous generations to subsequent ones.

The nearest estimation is that the contemporary havruta is a product of the

Lithuanian yeshiva tradition and quite possibly from the Volozhin Yeshiva, a seminary

founded by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin in the Minsk Province of Belarus in the early

nineteenth century (Segal, 2003). According to Segal (2003), a teacher of Torah to

women at Nishmat’s Program for Advanced Study in Israel, among the pedagogical

techniques of the Lithuanian Yeshiva was the “ haburot, group study in which students present[ed] material to each other in a model of independence and interdependence” (p.

6). Segal further explains that the goal of this model was to gradually diminish the

21 students’ need for a teacher when studying Torah . Without a primary focus on the teacher as the sole storehouse of knowledge, students are empowered to direct their own learning; to establish the community as their teacher; and to delimit the power of any single leader.

Further, an advantage of diminishing the need for a teacher is that the student is equipped to direct his learning long after his formal studies in the classroom have ceased.

Despite not being able to definitively identify the havruta’s historical origins, it is a method widely practiced throughout most modern-day yeshivot (plural for yeshiva , or

“Jewish school”) and in various other Jewish educational settings from which there is no doubt students greatly benefit. In truth, many students of sacred Jewish texts consider the havruta an indispensable method. In a famous allegory from the Talmud , Honi ha-

Me’agel, a scholar who lived during the first century falls asleep for seventy years. Upon awakening, he walks into the house of study only to find that he recognizes no one and that no one recognizes him. Depressed, he prays to die. Rava, a Talmudic scholar who ruled during the third century with Abbaye on inconsistencies in Jewish law interpreted this allegory: ‘This is why people say: ‘Either companionship [ havruta ] or death

[mituta ],’” Ta’anit , 23a (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 317-8). Much in the way that the

Talmud disallows habitation in a town without a school for its young people, the

experience of Honi ha-Me’agel expresses the sentiment many students of Torah

share, that the experience of learning with another person so greatly enhances study that

having to learn Torah alone would not only detract from the richness of the learning experience but would be unfathomable.

The men of the particular havruta under study in this research have been learning together for over a decade. Individually, each has committed himself to lifelong study,

22 fulfilling the requirement of every Jewish man to study Torah , but their years of study

together—their years of chosen commitment to their partnership—reveal something

outside of their dedication to religious study. It is this mutual commitment to text and to

another as well as what may be learned about the dedication to the unit of the havruta that I explore in this study .

Purpose and Research Questions

Jewish textual study exemplifies a community approach to interpretive practice

not instituted or even conceptualized in secular educational settings. The primary

occupation of Jewish scholars is textual study, and yet ironically its methods remain

sequestered from the academic world of curriculum studies. It is therefore that research

into the experience of the most significant practice of Jewish textual study, “the lifeblood

of Jewish learning” (Segal, 2003, p. 3), the havruta , is more than relevant for the field of education. The purpose of this study is to investigate the havruta from the perspective of two participants who study within this model to reveal the havruta’s import as a textual study practice.

The research questions for this project are:

1. What is the experience of learning in a particular havruta ? 2. What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process?

Significance

As Holtz (1984) suggests, the traditional system of Jewish learning “is one of the great literary achievements of human culture, representing a system that is unique, important, and deeply compelling to anyone interested in literature itself” (p. 13). Hence, there is good reason to expect this model to offer insight to the field of secular literary

23 studies. The reason for engaging in research on the havruta stems from the long history of students’ great successes with it in and outside of traditional Jewish educational settings. Chief among the advantages are an enhanced engagement with sophisticated texts and a commitment to lifelong learning. The significance of this study rests on what the field of curriculum studies may gain from insight into an age-old textual study practice with these advantages.

Theoretical Context

Jewish and secular hermeneutics theoretically frame this research study. In the

Jewish textual tradition there exists a refined and greatly detailed manner of analyzing sacred texts. In the secular world of hermeneutics, textual study emanates from a tradition of religious textual scholarship but is less uniform and prescribed. As depicted by Paul

Ricoeur (1981), secular hermeneutic practice consists of the manners emergent and constant to both philology and exegesis, is not limited in its interpretation to traditional text forms, and necessarily involves elements of dialogue and reflection. David Jardine

(2006) and Alan Block (2004, 2009) add to the theoretical context of this study in their discussions of hermeneutics as pedagogical practice with Block particularly offering insight into the story of curriculum as readable text. Across philosophical approaches concerning the role of hermeneutics in curriculum studies, agreement exists that “all human endeavors involve hermeneutic interpretation” (Slattery, Krasny, & O’Malley,

2007, p. 538). Of significance here is in investigating one human endeavor, the havruta , for how the implications of its interpretation can re-conceptualize the interpretive process for curriculum studies.

Methodology

This study is qualitative in nature. The methodology employed is case study, and the methods employed are observations and one final triangulating interview. Throughout this project, a havruta was observed in its traditional setting; following the observation

sessions, the members of the havruta were interviewed together to shed light on their

experience learning b’havruta .

Limitations and Delimitations

One havruta is under examination in this project. This delimitation results from

my interest in intensely studying the manner in which the members of the havruta work

together. Though more cases may have broadened the scope of this study, I was more

interested in deeply inquiring into the experience of learning in the havruta and believed

this could be better accomplished by studying one typical case. The havruta pair consists of two men, one of whom is yeshiva -educated but not presently enrolled in yeshiva and the other of whom is largely self-taught. The limitation of not including yeshiva students in this project was imposed on the study due to my inability, as an unmarried woman, to fully access the yeshiva . Despite this limitation, I am satisfied that more advantages exist in working with the two men of this project; these advantages include: the length of time the participants have worked b’havruta —together and with other partners; the maturity of the two participants; and the participants’ abilities to more fully and sophisticatedly articulate their experiences of learning in the havruta .

Definitions

The following definitions are alphabetical by English transliteration. By nature of the fact that these definitions are of Hebrew words without directly corresponding

English words, these definitions only attempt to approximate the meaning of each of the following concepts.

#rdm tyb (beit midrash) : the house of inquiry or school lzx (chazal ): the acronym used to collectively refer to Rabbinic sages and scholars #rd (derash ): the interpretative or metaphorical meaning of a text )rmg (Gemara ): to study or learn by tradition; part of Talmud that contains Rabbinic commentary and analysis of the Mishnah hyr+myg (gematria ): mode of interpretation in which letters have numerical value that adds significance in their meaning hklh (halakha ): Jewish law rbx (haver ): friend )twrbx (havruta ): paired or collegial study or study partner #mwx (Chumash ): five books of Moses #rdm (midrash ): to investigate or study twlwdg tw)rqm (mikra’ot gedolot ): a page of Hebrew Biblical text bordered by Masoretic notes and Biblical commentaries hn#m (Mishnah ): the name for the sixty-three tractates of the oral law from which Jewish law is systematically codified sdrp (PaRDeS ): the acronym for the four different levels of textual interpretation; translated as “orchard” +#p (peshat ): the plain, simple, literal, and direct meaning of a text lwplp (pilpul ): the complex or sharp analysis of the Talmud zmr (remez ): hints, or the allegorical meaning of a text lw# (shul ): Jewish house of worship; literally “school” rw(# (shi’ur ): a lesson on a topic of Torah study dws (sod ): the secret, hidden, or mystical meaning of a text hyrps (sifria ): library dwmlt (Talmud ): a central text of Judaism comprising the Mishnah and Gemara hrwt (Torah ): the five books of Moses, or the entire body of Jewish law and teachings

Chapter 2: Theoretical Context

Jewish Hermeneutics

“When the Holy One, blessed be He, gave the Torah to Israel, he gave it only in the form of wheat—for us to make flour from it, and flax—to make a garment from it.” (from the Midrash , Seder Eliyahu Zuta )

Spring is the reaping season in Israel. When I lived on an agricultural commune in

Israel, a Cwbq (kibbutz ), the real experience of working the land came during the spring after winter’s rainy season. Spring was when we harvested pomelos, jojoba, avocados, and the other produce we would subsist on throughout the warmer months. No other time in my life was I as connected to the earth or as in awe of G-d’s creation as when I lived on kibbutz . Reflecting on the experience of living on kibbutz and the connection I experienced with G-d’s earth brings to mind that the challenge of farm life in the Negev is identical to the challenge of Torah : We are to make from what we are given—from the text we are given—that which we need to live productive lives.

Torah study is understood in Judaism to have the capacity to fulfill a human’s basic needs if one knows how to access its awesome potential. When G-d asks the Jewish people to accept the Ten Commandments, the Israelites respond with (m#nw h#(n

(na’aseh v’nishma ), “We will do and we will hear,” Exodus , 24:7. This doing and hearing is interpreted as the Jewish people’s commitment to accepting the Torah and continuing lifelong to study it. Central to Jewish life is “text study, especially the study of classical Jewish texts” (Feiman-Nemser, 2006, p. 6), and the principal texts of Jewish curriculum, Torah , literally mean “teaching,” and are G-d’s lessons to the Jewish people.

Professor Louis Finkelstein, a twentieth century Jewish scholar is noted as having said,

“When I pray, I speak to God; when I study, God speaks to me.” When Jews pray, prayer

27 is communication with G-d, and Torah is how G-d reciprocates communication with his people, and it is well understood that for Jews, “study has been exalted…to the plane of

worship—the offering of the intellect in the service of the divine” (Berkowitz, 1905, p.

176). This belief undoubtedly places great importance on the manner in which one

studies sacred religious texts and on how one understands what G-d communicates

through these texts. To that end, there are hermeneutical principles for interpreting Torah , and this exegetical study has come to be called Jewish Hermeneutics by the secular

world.

The Rabbis say that the Torah is the only book that can be read by a five year old

and an eighty-five year old and be relevant and impactful to each reader. David Halivni’s

(1996) explanation that the text of the Torah is “complete and self-sufficient if only one

[knows] the hermeneutic principles and how to apply them” (p. 40) illuminates that as

one grows in his or her ability to decode the messages of the Torah at more sophisticated

levels, this is possible. Further, it emphasizes the core belief that there is not only one

correct meaning or interpretation of text but multiple meanings to be examined and

revealed through study (Pace, 1992). These compiled interpretations of the Hebrew Bible

are known in Judaism as #rdm (midrash ) which means “to study,” “to investigate,” or

“to inquire,” and there are two types of midrash that mirror the Hebrew Bible’s two

categories of content (Neusner, 1987). The first and most commonly referenced midrash

is hdg) #rdm (midrash aggadah) ; aggadah literally means “telling” or “story,” and this

midrashic form comments on Biblical narratives and ethical ideas to teach lessons for practical living. The second form of midrash is hklh #rdm (midrash halakhah ).

Halakha translates as “law,” and this midrashic form interprets legal passages and

28 addresses practical matters of Jewish law and human behavior from a legal perspective.

Jewish Hermeneutics, or the “challenge of uncovering [the Torah ’s] secret meanings,

unheard explanations, [and] matters of great weight and significance” (Holtz, 1984, p.

16), begins with the premise that all of the text of the Torah may be interpreted at four

different levels from the least to the most complex (Landes, 1997). This method of

scaffolded interpretation, an allegorical method that investigates the literary and

rhetorical elements of sacred texts (Jeanrond, 1988), is identified by the acronym sdrp

(PaRDeS ): +#p (Peshat ), zmr (Remez ), #rd (Drash ), and dws (Sod ). Readers of text work through these levels of Jewish hermeneutical practice in pairs to more sophisticatedly interpret a text’s meaning than can be achieved on one’s own; in this way,

PaRDeS demands havruta .

In learning the text of the Book of Ruth as a child with my grandfather, I naturally understood the story at its most basic, or peshat , level: Ruth embraced Israel as her land and Judaism as her religion. As an adult, through the act of learning the Book of Ruth with a partner, I interpret the text at a higher level of interpretation, and I interpret the gesture of a woman embracing her mother-in-law as her mother as symbolic of the value of relationship; in this way, Ruth embraces another as a part of herself. At a more sophisticated level of interpretation, then, the story of Ruth is indeed about a woman embracing Israel as her land and Judaism as her religion, but it is also the story of partnership.

+#p (Peshat ) is the plain, simple, and direct meaning of a text—its literal meaning or what Block (2004) refers to as “the world of plot” (p. 141) where the “reader recognizes the tale, or story” (p. 141). The tools used to glean its message include an

“attention to language, syntax, and context; use of concordances, commentaries, and literary structure” (Walfish, 2003, p. 278). Rashi, the medieval Rabbi considered to be the most significant commentator on the Torah and whose commentary continues to make

Torah accessible for all readers of sacred Jewish texts, begins his discussion of peshat by quoting a line from Jewish prayer. Rashi quotes, “One thing has G-d spoken; these two have I heard, (Tehillim 62:12), and Rashi expounds on the manner of understanding at this literal level when he clarifies: “A single verse can have many interpretations, but when all is said and done, Scripture does not depart from its simple meaning” (Kolatch,

2006, p. 26). Ruth’s story, likewise, never departs from its literal meaning. At its simplest, it remains a story about a woman embracing a new land and faith as her own.

Rashi insists that literal meaning, peshat , is imperative to understanding the text at every other level of PaRDeS . The more sophisticated a text, the greater the tendency for a student of that text to neglect the literal meaning of the words before him or her and instead struggle to find the deeper, more metaphoric interpretation of the text. Rashi would warn that such an inclination be resisted and would insist that peshat not be neglected: “Although the prophets spoke their words in the form of allegory, we must situate the allegory in its proper framework and order” (Kolatch, 2006, p. 26). When

Rashi discusses “framework” and “order,” Rabbi Yonatan Kolatch helps elucidate what these two terms mean. First, “proper framework” refers to attention on the part of the

Torah student that the explanation “fit the text being interpreted with ‘linguistic precision’” (Kolatch, p. 26). In other words, the first level of understanding of the text

should maintain the integrity of the literal meaning of the language of the text. As

Hebrew is a language of words mostly comprised each of a three-consonant root that

30 communicates the essence of the word’s meaning, it is therefore imperative that one be well-versed in Hebrew roots and be a seasoned student of the language of the Torah so as

to discern the most precise literal meaning of its text. Second, in terms of “proper order,”

Rashi indicates that the explanation must “fit the context…[or] the sequence of the

verses” (Kolatch, p. 27), meaning an interpretation may not emerge from the text that

does not match the tone and situation of the text. In this way, students of Torah must be attentive to the text surrounding a particular passage of interest. Therefore even at the level of peshat , interpretation cannot be conducted as an isolated activity from the reading of the whole of the Hebrew Bible. A challenge for students of Talmud is in approaching the text from these two different perspectives; Avraham Walfish (2003),

Rabbi and professor of Talmud and Rabbinic thought at Herzog College, Bar Ilan

University, and Tekoah Yeshiva, suggests two questions that must be asked to accomplish this challenge: “First how do we understand the text when we read it employing our normal tools of interpretation? And how, on the other hand, does the

Talmud read the text?” (p. 278). This latter question leads to the next level of

interpretation and the departure of the text from the plain and simple meaning, peshat , to the more complex levels of meaning, remez , drash , and sod .

The second level of interpretation, zmr (Remez ), involves investigating hints that expose the allegorical meaning or what Emmanuel Levinas (1994) describes as the

“allusive meaning” (p. 101) of a text. The Hebrew Bible consists of much word-play including words that double as first- and final-letter acronyms that convey multiple levels of meaning; anagrams meant to be understood as their presented words as well as the variant words from which their same letters may be reordered; words that employ literary

31 tropes; and words representing symbolic sums as deciphered through hyr+myg

(gematria ), a manner of assigning numerical values to letters and understanding a word’s

total value to be symbolic and additionally significant to its meaning (Kolatch, 2006). In

the story of Ruth, at the remez level of interpretation, there are several examples of word- play that hint at additional meaning.

One example of remez in the Book of Ruth is revealed as Elimelech leaves the

land of Judah for the land of Moab. The word “Moab” not only is the name of a land

neighboring Judah but also is comprised of two Hebrew words which add meaning to the

term: wm (mo ) meaning “from” and b) (ab ) meaning “father”. Thus, the text’s word-play

communicates that as Elimelech leaves Judah for Moab he is not only literally traveling

to another land, but he is figuratively abandoning his lineage. Another example of remez

can be found in the numeric value, or gematria , associated with Ruth’s name. In the

Talmud , all humans, including Gentiles, are required to fulfill the seven Noahide Laws;

these are laws that were given to all humankind after Noah survived the great flood. In

addition to the seven Noahide Laws, Jews are obligated to fulfill an additional six

hundred six laws, equaling six hundred thirteen total required commandments for Jews.

In Hebrew, the three letters of Ruth’s name, twr , hold extraordinary value. The first

letter r (resh ) equals two hundred; the second letter w (vov ) equals six; and finally, the

third letter of Ruth’s name, t (tav ), equals four hundred. When combined, the numerical

value of Ruth’s name is six hundred six or the number of additional laws Jews are

commanded to obey. As a Gentile, Ruth was obligated to obey the seven Noahide Laws.

Through remez , readers understand the value of Ruth’s name to foreshadow her eventual

32 conversion to Judaism since her name’s numerical value equals the additional six hundred six commandments she is required to adhere to when she becomes a Jew. There are countless additional examples of word-play that hint at meaning throughout Ruth’s text, and it follows then for all texts that at the remez level of interpretation, great deliberation over each word’s hinted-at meaning is decoded in an attempt to identify the nuanced meaning of the passage under study.

The third level, #rd (Drash ), is the level in which the metaphorical meaning or as Levinas (1994) suggests, the “solicited meaning” (p. 101), is investigated. Drash is the

“world of allegory” (Block, 2004, p. 142) and is the source of commentary on the

Talmud . Collectively, the sages of the Talmud are referred to with the acronym lzx

(chazal ) which stands for hkrbl Mnwrkz wnymkx (chachameinu zichronam livracha ).

This phrase is translated as, “Our Sages of Blessed Memory.” Russell Jay Hendel (1980) of the Rashi Database Project describes such scholars as “men of vast encyclopedic knowledge, keen analytic insight, subtle ethical awareness, and moving moral motivation” (p. 342), and for the chazal , drash interpretation is second-nature, an

“intuitive spontaneous reaction” (p. 327) to the text of the Talmud . The commentary is the chazal’s interpretation of the Hebrew Bible. In answer to the question concerning what makes a Biblical interpretation drash rather than peshat , Kolatch (2006) suggests the following: the source, the content, and the criteria. First, if the source of the reading is chazal and midrashic literature, then it is drash ; second, if the reading is a metaphoric and figurative reading versus a literal meaning, it is drash ; and third, if the reading requires more information than is directly stated in the text, it is drash .

Peshat not only differs from drash in that the former is a manner of listening to the text for what it has to say and that the latter is the imaginative interpretation and creative use of the text to garner deeper meaning from it but in the fact that peshat requires that the commentator refrain from imposing his or her personal feelings about the text on its interpretation while drash liberates the commentator to discover what is personally meaningful in the text. There are traces of Jewish ways of interpreting text in other more recent philosophies of textual study. For example, Ricoeur (1981) writes of a similar understanding of the relationship between the literal peshat and the metaphoric drash that extends meaning in that the latter validates the former to ensure the sense of the text. Undoubtedly this level of interpretation is not one that all readers of Talmud are able to master. It requires an intimate knowledge of the Hebrew Bible, and certainly because as Hendel (1980) explains, the chazal are “biblical native speakers” (p. 327) with much experience in the language of the Talmud , they almost instinctively or naturally elicit the deeper level of meaning from the text.

Interpreting the Book of Ruth at the drash level of interpretation offers the sophisticated reader the opportunity to uncover a greater depth of meaning in the text. At the drash level of interpretation, not only is the theme of partnership revealed through the action of the narrative, but the structure of the text itself exemplifies the importance of relationship. As an example, of the eighty-five Myqwsp (psukim ), or verses of Ruth’s

text, all but eight begin with the Hebrew letter w (vov ) which means “and.” The recurring

use of this word to link each sentence to every other sentence in the text expresses

connection and further conveys the significance of the theme of relationship to Ruth’s

story. As another example, drash interpretation insists that readers be attentive to the

34 manner in which the text presents itself. In the case of the Book of Ruth , the first chapter begins with a famine and ends with a harvest. These events strikingly parallel

Elimelech’s personal famine of loss of connection with the Jewish people at the beginning of chapter one and Ruth’s reaping of connection with the Jewish people through her conversion at the end of chapter one. There are countless additional ways in which to glean meaning from the text at the drash level for the reader who is knowledgeable enough to identify familiar patterns and to interpret their metaphoric value.

Finally, dws (Sod ) is the secret or mystical meaning of the text—the meaning that is the most hidden and that which is the greatest challenge to uncover (Landes, 1997).

The nature of sod is such that only one with extensive background in Talmudic study and experience in hlbq (Kabbalah) , or Jewish mysticism, would be able to identify the layers of meaning at this secret level of textual interpretation. Further, most certainly a student of sod would have had to have mastered the preceding levels of interpretation before even embarking on a search for meaning at this complex level. Block (2004) suggests that at the sod level of reading “we become the story—we tell it and teach it to others” (p. 143). In this way, another complexity in interpreting at the sod level is in being able to articulate the text of our lives; however, this task becomes possible in the havruta in which students of text encourage this articulation.

The word pardes is translated as “orchard,” and the suggestion is that one is nourished and sustained by reaping meaning from the Torah just as one might be nourished and sustained by reaping fruit from the earth. Though drash is certainly more challenging to decipher than peshat , there is no hierarchy of value inherent in these

35 levels. Undoubtedly, as the medieval commentator Rashi reminds us, without peshat , there is no attempting interpretation at the remez or drash levels let alone at the level of sod . Further, there is no guarantee that a student of Torah ever will be able to mine the text for meaning beyond the peshat , remez , or drash levels. This lack of guarantee is not injurious to the reading process and does not lessen the desire on the part of students to work to understand the text at greater levels of interpretation. Quite to the contrary, the challenge is one that is undertaken with enthusiasm as readers sit down to the sacred text, mining it for clues, probing it for patterns, debating with other readers, and questioning the text for ever deeper interpretations—all conducted within the study dyad of the havruta .

In analyzing the text of the havruta and its experience for participants, the

PaRDeS levels of interpretation might be applied. For the researcher, this would require a substantial number of encounters with participants to ensure that over the course of time together, each level of interpretation is honored and adequately attended to. In designing this study, I have attempted to schedule enough observation sessions with participants to enable first a literal interpretation followed by the slow accumulation of more information from which to make more sophisticated interpretations of their experience working and learning together.

Within the level of drash , and to better parse out the meaning beneath the literal and allegorical levels of the text, Rabbinic scholars have further identified methods of understanding the Torah by identifying patterns within it or what Levinas (1994) refers to as “the paradigmatic modality of Talmudic reflection [in which] notions remain constantly in contact with the examples or refer back to them” (p. 103). For example, in

36 the book that bears her name, Ruth lies down at Boaz’s feet on the threshing floor in an attempt to encourage his protection of her (Ruth 3:7), paralleling her earlier action of requesting the same response by gleaning from Boaz’s fields (2:2). The great Talmudic scholars of the past named these categories of motifs. For instance, Hillel created seven means of identifying such patterns; Rabbi Yishmael created thirteen such principles; and

Rabbi Akiva modified Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles into his own method of guidelines for textual study. Despite the differences in each scholar’s approach, it is important to note that the varying rules do not indicate dissension; in fact, the guidelines were never meant to be exhaustive or definitive but to serve as aids to better understanding the Torah (Kolatch, 2006). Thus a student of Talmud might use various principles from the range of Talmud scholars’ approaches in order to better identify patterns in the sacred text.

Further, providing guidance for textual study was so important to the act of interpreting the Hebrew Bible that often Rabbis would name the means by which they embarked on their Torah commentary in the introductions to their anthologies. As example, Rabbi Tuviah who lived during the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries wrote in his introduction that, “one who interprets Scripture without Midrash and the thirteen hermeneutical principles is ‘as if walking in darkness’” (Kolatch, 2006, p. 228-

229). As is the case with Rabbi Yishamael’s guidelines, some textual interpretation methods have maintained greater popularity and more elevated status within traditional

Jewish textual study. Rabbi Yishamel’s thirteen principles exemplify such an elevated method, and as evidence, in the daily weekday morning service Jews recite his thirteen rules to elucidating the Torah , here translated from the Hebrew:

Rabbi Yishmael says: Through thirteen rules is the Torah elucidated: (1) Through a conclusion inferred from a lenient law to a strict one, and vice versa; (2) through tradition that similar words in different contexts are meant to clarify one another; (3) through a general principle derived from one verse, and a general principle derived from two verses; (4) through a general statement limited by a specification; (5) through a specification broadened by a general statement; (6) through a general statement followed by a specification followed, in turn, by another general statement—you may only infer whatever is similar to the specification; (7) when a general statement requires a specification or a specification requires a general statement to clarify its meaning; (8) anything that was included in a general statement, but was then singled out from the general statement in order to teach something, was not singled out to teach only about itself, but to apply its teaching to the entire generality; (9) anything that was included in a general statement, but was then singled out to discuss a provision similar to the general category, has been singled out to be more lenient rather than more severe; (10) anything that was included in a general statement, but was then singled out to discuss a provision not similar to the general category, has been singled out both to be more lenient and more severe; (11) anything that was included in a general statement, but was then singled out to be treated as a new case, cannot be returned to its general statement unless Scripture returns it explicitly to its general statement; (12) a matter elucidated from its context, or from the following passage; (13) similarly, two passages that contradict one another—until a third passage comes to reconcile them (Scherman & Zlotowitz, 2009, pp. 48-53).

Examples may help to flesh out the first couple of these principles so that the manner of their use in interpreting texts is made clearer. For example, Rabbi Yishmael begins with rmxw lq (Kal Vachomer ) “inference from a minor to a major, or vice versa…if object A has property X, how much more so must B have X!” (Kolatch, 2006, p. 90). The supposition for this principle is that B is more likely to have X than A is likely to have X; hence, assumptions may be made based on the positions of power each party, A and B, will likely possess. One might recognize this form of argument as

38 reminiscent of a fortiori reasoning from classic rhetoric in which an established larger point subsumes a minor point, making the minor point unworthy of argument. According to Kolatch, this argument type appears in several places throughout the Torah . In twm#

(Shemot ) or Exodus , for example, Moses argues with G-d, “Behold, the Children of Israel have not listened to me, so how will Pharoah listen to me?” (6:12); the assumption is that the more powerful entity, Pharoah, will certainly not listen to Moses because the weaker entity, the Israelites, have refused to listen to Moses.

Continuing to demonstrate the use of these principles by the sages to more deeply understand the patterns within the text of the Torah , Rabbi Yishmael’s second guideline for interpretation is hw# hrzgm (M’gezerah Shavah ); Kolatch (2006) elucidates this principle, explaining, “If the same word appears in two places in the Torah , and a certain law is explicitly stated in one of those places, we may infer…that the same law applies in the other place as well” (p. 91). In order to truly make sense of this, it is important to understand that synonyms do not exist in the Hebrew language—there is only one word for each concept expressed; thus, the recurrence of a word in the Torah would be a definitive indicator that a very specific way of interpreting that word, situation, or concept must be followed. Undoubtedly a student who is attuned enough to notice the recurrence of a word in the text and be able to trace it to its original usage necessarily has much experience studying Torah. As an example of the principle of M’gezerah shavah , textually, several instances exist in the Torah in which the exchange of money is understood to be interpreted as a legal contract to acquire. In one of these cases, when the term for a monetary exchange is used, the law governing an acquisition also appears.

Thus, each subsequent time the same, specific term for a monetary exchange appears in

39 the Torah , the principle of M’gezerah Shavah insists that the law of acquisition be implied. These textual examples of the principles of Kal Vachomer and M’gezerah

Shavah do not reveal themselves without dedicated study to the text and experience with its study. Further, textual study of this nature is not to be undertaken alone. The solitary reader has the misfortune of myopic thinking that can potentially exhibit itself in faulty reasoning or a misreading or misinterpretation of the text; it is only with another student of the text that sophisticated patterns may be identified and nuances of meaning may be understood. Substantive and sophisticated textual interpretation, therefore, demands havruta .

As noted, the thirteen principles Rabbi Yishmael established to understand the laws at the drash level of interpretation appear in the daily weekday morning prayer

every Jew is required to recite. Their appearance there makes clear the centrality of

textual study in Judaism and in the life of a Jew as well as the access each Jew has to the

methods by which the sages conducted their scriptural interpretation. As Ann Jaffe Pace

(1992) discusses in a paper she presented at the Annual Meeting at the National Reading

Conference, study is undertaken not exclusively as an obligation or as a guide “in

religious and every day affairs, though it did serve these ends…[but as] a passionate

commitment to uncovering, elucidating, and elaborating on the meaning of the written

text” (p. 3). The same application might be made to the havruta of this research study. In other words, the manner in which the participants speak about their experiences b’havruta could be viewed as commentary, and the thirteen hermeneutic principles could be viewed as a way to more deeply understand the way in which participants arrived at

the commentary of their experience.

Pinar, Reynolds, Slattery, and Taubman (2004) acknowledge that theological hermeneutics consists of criteria for interpreting texts for the purposes of delineating a community’s religious and legal traditions and contend that the task of interpreting such religious texts is an extremely difficult one “because the worldviews of contemporary societies are far removed from ancient cosmologies in which the original text was produced” (p. 638). The Rabbis would argue with Pinar et al. (2004) concerning the notion that present-day readers face a greater challenge in interpreting ancient texts, and the on-going daily practice of interpreting such texts by contemporary Jews attests to the effectiveness of this practice. Rabbinic scholars likely would cite techniques like the

PaRDeS levels of textual study and principles like those elucidated by Rabbi Yishmael as tools to enable the modern-day student to successfully interpret thousands of years old texts. Though Jewish Hermeneutics does not acknowledge the restrictions Pinar et al.

(2004) suggest, nonetheless, discussions of religious hermeneutics from a secular perspective can be helpful in understanding how to situate Jewish Hermeneutical practices within the field of curriculum studies and might offer a new way to understand literature study in public schools.

Secularizing Hermeneutics

Werner Jeanrond (1988) acknowledges that Biblical Hermeneutics primarily employs the allegorical method in its attempt to decipher religiously ethical ways of living and resolving legal disputes and notes: “An interpretation should disclose the text’s spiritual sense on the basis of an explanation of the text’s literal sense” (p. 462). Pinar et al. (2004) likewise broadly define hermeneutics as “the theory of interpreting oral traditions, other verbal communications, written texts, and aesthetic products” (p. 638)

41 practiced for the purpose of establishing “normative religious and community practices”

(p. 638). These definitions depart little from that of the Rabbinic scholars who insist that the text offers readers rules by which to ethically live, yet secular hermeneutics differs from Jewish Hermeneutics in the former’s ever-changing approach to textual interpretation. Nonetheless, an understanding of the history of secular hermeneutics is imperative to a study that posits the use of a Jewish practice of textual interpretation in the secular English classroom.

In tracing the history of secular hermeneutics and its move away from the allegorical approach, Pinar et al. (2004) begin with referencing Origen, whom Jeanrond

(1988) refers to as the first Christian hermeneutic scholar and whose belief was that “the historical-grammatical (literal) sense and the spiritual sense” (p. 462) needed to be the focus of scriptural interpretation. After Origen, Pinar et al. discuss the work of Thomas

Aquinas whom they suggest “became the definitive authority on textual interpretation”

(p. 639) during the thirteenth century and who altered the field of hermeneutic studies by stressing the importance for Biblical scholars to focus on the literal word in text study.

During the Protestant Reformation, the attitude toward Christian Biblical interpretation shifted from a Thomist approach, and one in which “a philology (historical linguistic study) of classical texts and a literalistic exegesis (critical analysis) of sacred texts predominated” (Pinar et al., p. 641) to one in which the interpreter played a greater role in

“discern[ing] the operations which are common to the two traditional branches of hermeneutics—philology and exegesis” (p. 641). This shift was due much in part to

Friedrich Schleiermacher’s work in hermeneutics in which he “rejected all formal, extratextual authorities as illegitimate imposition on individual acts of understanding”

(Pinar et al., p. 640). This move is significant in that it presented opportunities for laic readers to interpret sacred texts at the literal level—consigning textual hermeneutic scholarship to the Christian masses. In his words, Schleiermacher, as quoted in Jeanrond, proclaimed, “Hermeneutics is now understood as the art of understanding the sense of the text. Allegorical interpretation is ruled out, [ sic ] the text must be allowed to speak for itself” (p. 463). In so liberating hermeneutics from Biblical scholars and opening up the field to broadly legitimize any lay individual’s understanding of the sacred text,

Schleirmacher may have prompted the shift in hermeneutics from an exclusive study of religious texts to an examination of secular ones. What Schleirmacher grappled with, though, was the relationship between two different forms of interpretation: grammatical and technical (Ricoeur, 1981). These two interpretations, the first “based on the characteristics of discourse which are common to a culture” and the second which

“addressed to the singularity, indeed to the genius, of the writer’s message” (Ricoeur, p.

46) are problematic because though of equal value, they cannot be employed simultaneously. The situation of this dilemma in and of itself highlights a shift in focus from the religious text to the secular text and therefore a transition from religious hermeneutics to secular hermeneutics. Following Schleirmacher, Wilhelm Dilthey, with his interest in history, asked the question of how “an historical interconnection [was] to be conceived” (Ricoeur, p. 48) in understanding the text, and in a shift further away from traditional hermeneutics, Dilthey suggested that “the text to be interpreted was reality itself” (p. 48).

Ricoeur (1995) posits that the move from religious hermeneutics to secular hermeneutics was due to the disappearance of the Christian sacred text. The instigating

43 situation of this sacred text’s disappearance, he claims, was the Christian Church’s attempts at unification by way of consolidating the disparate versions of their Bible into one canonized version. Widespread editing, including translation, accompanied this consolidation effort and altered the content so that no one community could claim its origin. Thus, Ricoeur argues, when the text that “the community has always regarded as sacred” undergoes the editing process, it becomes a “scholars’ text” (p. 68). Biblical criticism throughout the centuries, then, could be understood to have been conducted on texts not “of any community, except perhaps the community of the academic world”

(Ricoeur, p. 68). At its core, Christians suffered a loss of ownership over their sacred text

through canonization, and this loss granted a space for the secularization of hermeneutic

textual interpretation and study. It should be noted, however, that this loss was

exclusively a Christian experience; in contrast, according to traditionalists, the Torah

exists in the identical form in which G-d first dictated it to Moses on Mount Sinai, and

this consistency is reflected in the manner in which Jewish sacred texts traditionally and

contemporarily are studied and analyzed. Thus, the shifts and transitions illuminated

throughout this history very particularly are relevant to the move from Christian

hermeneutics to secular hermeneutics.

Philosophical Hermeneutics

Without a sacred text at its center, hermeneutics is a secular and scholarly pursuit.

The challenge secular hermeneutics is tasked with, though, requires a return to its sacred textual roots. It is this challenge that drives this work. According to Paul Ricoeur (1981), the charge is to reconcile the variety of applications associated with the philology of classical texts of the Greek tradition and the exegesis of religious texts of the Judeo-

Christian tradition in an effort to “discern the operations which are common to the two great branches of hermeneutics” (Ricoeur, p. 45) and therefore relevant to the interpretation of all texts. Ricoeur writes, “It is necessary to rise above, not only the particularity of texts, but also the particularity of the rules and recipes into which the art of understanding is dispersed” (p. 45), and he defines hermeneutics as, “the theory of the operations of understanding in their relation to the interpretation of texts” (p. 43). In this way, Ricoeur’s definition is reminiscent of the Rabbis’ rules for exegetical interpretation.

For Ricoeur (1991), “discourse is a text” (p. 53), a dynamic exchange fixed in writing. Even while making this claim, however, Ricoeur acknowledges the complications inherent in this statement. First, Structuralism to which Ricoeur subscribes, views language as a closed system in which there is a severed connection between the text and the reader. As a result, the text cannot function as an intermediary in dialogue.

Without the natural occurrence of an interplay between parties in dialogue and no exchange between reader and author, “specific techniques are therefore required in order to raise the chain of written signs to discourse and to discern the message through the superimposed codifications particular to the realization of discourse as a text” (Ricoeur, p. 55). In some ways, one might consider the situation of the havruta to creatively resolve this dilemma. The text of the Torah remains a physically unchanging text, but dialogue

nonetheless is achieved between reader and text as well as between readers immersed in

the text. The central aim of students of Torah challenges the Structuralist notion of severed connections between text and reader. Simply put, students of Torah maintain one universal objective: closeness with G-d, the Author. Additionally, imbedded in the text and also in dialogue with readers of the Talmud are the commentators. These

45 commentators, who reveal their more sophisticated skills at deciphering the deeper levels of meaning in the text, provide laic readers with a way to better connect with G-d and provide an added voice in the discourse that is a text. As final evidence of the natural role of discourse in Jewish study, the text comprised of the commentaries is referred to as

“oral law” and is understood to have only taken the shape of written text to preserve its authenticity. Hence, the havruta , with its manner of engaging text and readers in

discussion, prompts, establishes, and even enhances Ricoeur’s idealized discourse-work-

writing triad.

The second complication associated with Ricoeur’s (1991) claim that “discourse

is a text” (p. 53) is how the experience of distanciation, versus participation, affects this

assertion. At its simplest, distanciation is a reader’s ability to provide distance between

him or herself and the textual interpretive process. In Ricoeur’s words, “the dominant problematic is that of the text, which reintroduces a positive and…productive notion of distanciation” (p. 76) into conversation by its closed status. At its core, Ricoeur argues that through the nature of the presentation of a text as a self-enclosed narrative, any dialogue “is communication in and through distance” (p. 76). Here, too, the notion of learning in havruta may be of some use. Despite the fact that Structuralists would refer to the central text under study in the havruta, the Torah, as a closed text, distanciation is improbable. As with any sacred text, it is unlikely that religious students of its laws would be able to distanciate themselves due to the nature of the believers’ fundamental investments in the text’s authority as well as the conviction that the text is truly speaking directly to them. In fact, as the purpose of learning Torah is precisely to gain a greater connection with G-d, distanciation is antithetical to the purpose of Judaic study. Not only

46 does the havruta have implications for the manner in which we understand the role of

distanciation in discourse around a text, but further, it holds implications for me as a

researcher. In a very contrary way, in reading the experience of the havruta , the challenge

throughout this research study will be for me to distanciate from my pre-existing belief in

the efficacy of its practice. The danger is a subjectivity danger. If I oblige my natural

inclination not to distanciate to some degree, I run the risk of influencing or altering the

meaning of the text under study. Significantly, the implications are not solely on my

impressions or misrepresentations of the havruta but more importantly on the participants

and their experiences of learning within their partnership.

A case can be made that as the aim of Torah learning is to gain a greater

connection to G-d, a somewhat elusive Author, then the pairing of the havruta not only

allows for joint-explication of the text but provides each with a discussant and respondent

for his or her individual discourse with the text. It is not uncommon for one of the

members of the havruta to speak from the perspective of the text when challenging the

other member’s textual interpretation. In this way, the text is embodied by its readers, both situating its interpretation from an external perspective as well as from within. The

ultimate aim of textual study is to read, to understand, and then to interpret; from a

Jewish perspective, at its core, understanding is reading at the level of peshat —at the

literal level—and is a first-reading, of sorts. It is only through subsequent levels of

interpretation—remez , drash , and sod , that the reader identifies that which is in him or

her that makes the text relevant and that which is in the text that makes him or her

relevant. As Ricoeur (1991) discusses it in a secular sense, this latter state of reading is

initiated by discourse; speaking with another who has worked through his or her own

47 understanding leads to interpretation that is hermeneutically self-reflective. It is through this exchange and member-checking, then, that “a community of interpreters” (Patton,

2002, p. 114) validates textual meaning. The power of the havruta is truly in the exchange between its partners with the text of the Torah at and through its center.

Participants in this study dyad engage in a textual reading of the work, the self, and the havruta ; a performance of interpretation on all parts of the triad; an ensuing dialogue between the members of the havruta about and from within the work; and a return to reread the text of themselves, the pair, and the work until from within this torrent of reading, interpreting, rereading and reinterpreting of the hermeneutic circle, “the ‘true’ meaning of the text” (Schwandt, 2001, p. 112) is discovered.

The Act of Reading in Curriculum Studies

Pinar (2004) describes the work of the field of curriculum studies “as a multifaceted process, involving not only official policy, prescribed textbooks, standardized examinations, but as well the ‘complicated conversation’ of the participants” (p. 19). The foundation of this challenging educational discourse, Pinar suggests, is the texts of curriculum studies that serve as pretexts for a myriad of subsequent conversations “whose character and destination cannot be known in advance”

(p. 62). At its core, the field of curriculum studies is engaged in a cyclical dialogue involving interpretation and reinterpretation of educational textual products in the experience of its participants—a hermeneutic dialogue. It follows, then, that the openness of curriculum studies’ complicated conversation to multiple voices along with its unfixed and ever-evolving end can be understood to be hermeneutic.

According to Sumara (2002), what distinguishes curriculum studies from other disciplines is its “explicit interest in analyzing the relationships among language, culture, learning, and teaching” (p. 14). Of primary importance to the field are sites of learning or spaces in which the development of knowledge occurs, including the spaces of “our embodied relationships” (Sumara & Davis, 1988, p. 85). In Sumara and Davis’ words, central to curriculum are matters of “identification and identity” (p. 76) with the implication that one informs the other “because each person is always involved in many discursive systems, practices, and communities” (p. 76) and therefore possesses both an individual and a communal identity. From this perspective, curriculum studies is concerned with both the epistemological and the ontological, insisting that what one knows cannot fully be differentiated from who one is and in addition to each informing the other, each is informed by others. Relevant to this discussion are contemporary curriculum theorists who are presently engaged in the complicated conversation around textual study practices, the sites of these practices, and the impact of textual study on identity including Alan Block, Suzanne de Castell, Dennis Sumara, Mary Doll, and David

Jardine.

For Block (2009), “the story, as is study, is a prayerful act” (p. 93). Uniquely,

Block has one foot firmly planted in the secular world of curriculum studies and another firmly-planted foot in the world of Jewish thinking. Guiding his work is an inquiry into what is Jewish about American education, and he places significant focus on textual study in his investigation. Block (2004) posits that “when we learn, as when we pray, we acknowledge in public our sense of wonder and awe” (p. 2). The reading experience, according to Block, is a tremendous experience of meaning-making in which readers do

49 not simply derive meaning from texts but make meaning with texts. The distinction here seems minute on the surface; undoubtedly the end result of both approaches is gleaned meaning. Though this is the case, Block indicates that the nuance of difference lies in the students’ willingness to participate in the making of meaning, to commit to deliberation, and to acquiesce to no one answer. As Suzanne de Castell (1999) describes interpretation, as opposed to teachers dictating where students should seek a pre-determined meaning in the text, students must find their individual “place[s] in the text” (p. 401). Using George

Steiner’s essay, “Our Homeland, The Text” as support, de Castell makes the case that the

“cultural tradition of reverence for scholarship” (p. 401) among Jews likely stems from a homeland-less state for thousands of years; at its core, de Castell suggests that Jews’ longstanding lack of a geographical home influenced the adoption of a textual home. In applying this unique case to the broader context, de Castell understands textual study to require literate spaces in which texts possess value for the individual. Though de Castell does not offer a reason why one chooses a particular space in a text as a site of identification, Block (2004) maintains, “At the center of Judaism is the love and study of text—of Torah” (p. 58), and unquestionably, according to Block, this love of study exists because of the reciprocity students enjoy in the educational exchange and in the practical reward students understand Torah study to offer. In Block’s words, there is “something

[of value] to acquire” (p. 71). It is not simply the student who gains from the educational

exchange, though. The teacher, according to Block (2007), also learns by being

challenged by his or her students; resultantly, the space for textual learning, is one of

sacred exchange.

Block (1995) explains that “the act of reading might be understood as an original and natural creative act…equivalent to thought…[and] central to human existence” (p.

195). He posits that it is the act of reading that leads to learning and that “by reading we must proceed through the world continuing to learn” (p. 195). Block’s theory of how we

continue to learn rests on our natural inclination to make predictions about the world

from our experiences in it and the desire to seek confirmation about our predictions

through our interactions with texts. In other words, reading enables us to integrate new

information into our understandings of the world. Further, in integrating this new

information, Block notes that as we are thinking, growing, changing, and learning we become the sites of textual practice. Block (2007) states that reading enables one to

“embark on the creation of something unique” (p. 163) and that in the act of reading, one

inevitably is seeking oneself.

Developing from his theory of textual study, Block (1995) insists that “a pedagogy of reading must provide space for experiment, for trial, [and] for questions posed in an atmosphere supportive of these queries” (p. 195). In a return to Jewish manners of educating, Block (2004) asserts that intrinsic to Jewish pedagogy is the act of questioning—an act that by its implementation teaches that learning is interminable. He stresses that roles in an educational setting are of great import and that a Jewish curriculum insists that meaning is reliant on students’ desires to be students and to participate in the interpretive community in the role of students. Once students commit to their roles, the act of reading further obligates them. Block (2007) insists that the student

“who will not challenge needs no teacher,” and that “the authority of both [teacher and student] resides in the text that is opened by query and question” (p. 143). In Block’s

51 words, “reading requires courage” (p. 173). The act demands that readers be responsible for their readings; however, though there is a tendency to believe that correct readings

are hence the aimed-for results of this responsibility, Block reminds us that reading that

solely focuses on a “denial of the self and the acknowledgement of the authority of others

in representing the world” (p. 173) should not be the intent of a students’ engagements

with texts.

In the case of literary learning, Sumara (2002) espouses a distinctly anti-

essentialist account of literary engagement in which interpretation is not reliant upon the

standard tropes of literary studies, or what Doll (2000) refers to as an ineffective way to

teach literature. Instead, in the anti-essentialist approach, themes emergent from the

“personal, the communal, and the cultural” (Sumara, p. 12) are emphasized and prioritized. A qualitative research study of an interpretive practice, like this project, then,

has the potential to yield insight not only into the model under investigation but also into

the landscape surrounding this model. Within the field of curriculum studies, as Sumara

suggests, the reading of literary texts as an anti-essentialist activity acknowledges

engagements as “archival sites for creative and critical interpretation” (p. 23). In other

words, a reader’s learning about a text shares equal space with a reader’s learning about

the world and about himself or herself. Extending the definition of a text as Ricoeur

(1991) does, the reading of a discourse-experience likewise extends the reader’s learning

from that experience to that of the world and to that of the self. It follows that reading and

interpreting of the self is as much a “deeply hermeneutic activity” (Sumara & Davis,

1988, p. 86) as is the reading and interpreting a work of what might be traditionally

deemed a textual product.

According to Sumara (2002), interpretive practices “function to create experiences of self-identity” (p. 8). He argues further that as human beings possess advanced language skills, the expectation is that we should be creating more sites for interpretation that both confirm and challenge our beliefs about the world. Just as Sumara argues for reading as a personal act of reflection, he additionally emphasizes the need for attention to be paid to the manner in which the act of reading “becomes immersed in a complex set of cultural activities that participates in the ongoing conditioning of personal and cultural knowledge and understanding” (p. 27-8).

Sumara (1999) insists that reading is especially important in the classroom, because in an educational setting, reading has the power to mediate all classroom experiences. In contrast, de Castell (1999) pushes against the notion of assigning specific texts for study; she instead maintains that rather than make meaning of a text under study within a community or classroom setting, readers should be encouraged to seek out texts individually as a “means to the development of identity” (p. 400). Whereas de Castell is concerned with “highlight[ing] the pursuit of place” (p. 401) or the experience of finding one’s unique literate space in a self-chosen text, Sumara (1996) is interested in the school experience of shared reading in which the focus is on understanding oneself and others when a common text is read. In discussing the type of common text to be used within the classroom, Sumara (1999) identifies the difference between expository and literary texts.

The former, that which he identifies as a “telling text,” is one that precludes the reader’s experience; whereas the latter, the work of literature, is formulative rather than communicative and encourages the reader to “immerse herself in meaning that emerges from the bringing of her own experience to the text” (Sumara, 1999, p. 292). He contends

53 that this idea, which he refers to as “purposeful pedagogy”, is widely discussed in the field of curriculum studies but is rarely put into practice in educational settings. It is here that a study of the manner in which students in havruta bring their two bodies of

experiences to their readings, their interpretations, and their discussions of sophisticated

texts may be of use to the field of curriculum studies as an age-old enactment of purposeful pedagogy.

Fundamentally, Sumara (2002) envisions human identity as “co-evolving with the production of knowledge” (p. 9), and he offers a site for literary learning in his description of the “commonplace book”—a work of literature that is read multiple times by readers who record their responses to each reading in the text’s margins. Each time the commonplace book is reread, readers engage with the printed text as well as the notes inserted from all previous readings. In this way, the reading experience is enhanced by past experiences of reading. It is this ever-altering site for literary learning that encourages readers each time they read a text to “be like nomads, seeking to find common dwelling places while searching for meanings” (Doll, 2000, p. xiii). The spaces, then, of textual experiences are both familiar and unpredictable.

In terms of the act of reading, Mary Doll (2000) focuses on fiction as the site for

“transformative insights for educational theory and practice” (p. xi). She envisions the metaphors employed by fiction writers to be the medium by which curriculum theorists can begin to think differently about educational concepts such as “race, Whiteness, class, gender, identity, place, body, being, [and] authority” (p. xi). Further, it is through exposure to these concepts that, like Sumara (2002), Doll regards the act of reading to be an act of self-development. She elucidates that as readers engage with fiction, they

54 recognize pieces of themselves in the characters of the works under study. One way of tapping into this identification with literature, Doll (1999) suggests, is by analyzing literature’s archetypes and associating them with the types within a reader’s inner self.

According to Doll (2000), it is this identification with characters that initiates the enhancement of one’s identity; Doll (1999) writes, “To learn to see archetypally is to see the self poetically” (p. 107). Though significant, this identification with other character types does not constitute the whole of the self-development process as Doll sees it. With exposure to fictional texts, Doll (2000) insists that readers necessarily become more empathetic to the greater human condition. In fact, Doll suggests that when paired with the study of one’s own personal development, it is this induced empathy that has the power to affect readers’ more profound attendance to issues addressed by traditional pedagogies.

Rather than have readers think literally about the world around them, Doll (2000) maintains that literary learning encourages the use of imagination, or a more metaphoric manner of viewing the world. Doll’s argument is that it is through the use of imagination that readers exchange their literal understandings for metaphoric ones and this exchange results in a relinquishing of presuppositions about the individuals and world around them.

In speaking to the field of curriculum studies, she offers four distinct characteristics of fiction, that if observed, she theorizes will enable teachers and students of texts to connect more personally, to empathize more broadly, and to engage with greater imagination.

The first of these characteristics is the unfamiliar. Doll (2000) is adamant that teachers allow the reading of literature to be a destabilizing experience. She posits it is

55 through the discomfort of navigating the unfamiliar that students benefit from fiction’s wonders and risks. The second characteristic is pacing. Doll insists that by slowing down the rate by which literature is read, thought about, and discussed, students benefit because they are granted time to truly attend to the literature. Third, Doll discusses the characteristic of fluidity. Here she expresses the need for students of literature to believe there is no one correct answer toward which the lesson is moving—a notion very close to

Block’s (2004) in which he emphasizes the necessity for students to commit to deliberation in their experiences with texts. Rather than focusing on a definitive end, Doll is interested in literary learning as an activity of openness and sharing where anything is possible. Finally, the fourth characteristic Doll presents is fiction as sustenance. As sustenance, Doll implies that literature has the potential to nourish readers with its intimacy. She writes, “Fiction is the lie that pedagogy needs in order to uncover the truths that make us human” (p. xii). As opposed to those who might imagine literature exclusively to be an aesthetic amusement or dispensable luxury, Doll is resolute that literature has the power to sustain readers and to improve pedagogic practice.

Framing the act of textual interpretation, Jardine (2006) writes, “For interpretation to engage, the text and I must be allowed to ‘play’” (p. 161). When Jardine invokes

Derrida’s (1978) notion of play, he is suggesting a de-centering of the text that invites semantic flexibility or limitless meanings to emerge. These emerging meanings, as

Jardine discusses them, manifest from both individual experience and the imagination, and Jardine discusses these elements in much the same ways that Sumara (2002) discusses the personal and Doll (2000) discusses the metaphoric. In other words, the act of reading, according to Jardine, is simultaneously a reflective and a creative act.

Though Derrida and Jardine refer to play in much the same way, Derrida (1978) condemns representation as erroneously starting from “the principle that the sign and the real are equivalent” (p. 346), while Jardine (2006) insists that the play between the reader and the text exists precisely because of a striking similarity, and therefore a connection, between the two. Jardine employs the phrase “living connection” (p. 161) in referring to this relationship between reader and text—a relationship in which personal associations are made during the reading of a work. Though this is the case, Jardine is careful to make explicit that a living connection does not imply that a reader’s experiences are identical to the experiences depicted in a work of text; rather, there is a resemblance between the personal and the imaginative that has the potential to profoundly affect the reader and connect him or her with the text. As Jardine explains, it is the encounter of being confronted by one’s personal experience by an imaginative textual work that challenges a reader’s “preunderstandings and prejudices and presumptions” (p. 161) and that ultimately has the potential to alter one’s personal beliefs. As Jardine describes it, educational settings are institutionalized, and knowledge is perceived as a scarce commodity. Viewing individuals as sites of knowledge, however, challenges this notion of educational limitation. Despite the value Jardine places on the reader and on the living connection, ultimately it is the topic of the text that he considers “the center of interpretive work” (p. 161) and that which is “deeply pedagogical” (p. 160). Without the subject initiating a relationship between text and reader, he argues, there is no interpretive exchange.

The Havruta and Curriculum Studies

Despite the application of hermeneutics to secular texts, experiences, and events, hermeneutics’ roots are religious and therefore inherent to contemporary hermeneutics are residual characteristics from its days as a manner of understanding exclusively religious texts. It follows, too, that as contemporary hermeneutics evolves and matures, it pushes against many of the characteristics associated with its predecessor. Believed to be a fixed characteristic of religious hermeneutics and of relevant debate in the field of curriculum studies is the practice of objectively interpreting texts within their historical, cultural, and social conditions. Slattery, et al. (2007) refer to this as “Contextual

Hermeneutics” and criticize this form of hermeneutics’ situated dependence. Emergent from a post-modern perspective, Slattery et al. instead insist that contemporary educators employ “an intersubjective hermeneutics…[of] dialogic interchange” (p. 545) that rather than limit interpretation to time, place, and situation, encourages an exchange between interpreters. Two assumptions here are being made by curriculum studies about traditional hermeneutics: one, that dialogue in textual interpretation is a contemporary notion; and two, that religious models of hermeneutics rely exclusively on context in their interpretive processes. The havruta model reveals both of these assumptions to be false.

The suggestion that an emphasis on dialogue in textual interpretation is a

contemporary notion emergent from the work of Martin Heidegger and Edmund Husserl,

as Slattery, et al. (2007) suggest, and that dialogue incorporated into the act of textual

interpretation is limited to secular hermeneutics is disproved by the fact that the havruta has employed this practice for centuries. The havruta , with its interpreters’ engagement

in dialogue around a work of sacred texts—reading, interpreting, discussing, rereading,

58 reinterpreting, re-discussing, and through the cycle again—is age-old and yet it personifies the relatively contemporary notion of Heidegger’s “Hermeneutic Circle.”

Further, as much of what is studied b’havruta is comprised of the mishna , midrash , and

Talmud , what is known as the “oral law” because it is emergent from the explications of the Torah by its commentators, there may well be understood to be multiple voices engaged in conversation during havruta study: the two students and the collectively- voiced texts. These voices, according to Ricoeur (1991) who again insists on “discourse as text” (p. 53), may well be considered textual products for hermeneutic inquiry.

The uniqueness of the havruta model, when comparing it to both religious and secular curriculum models of textual interpretation, is precisely in the way in which dialogue is an inherently organic part of its practice. Its curriculum is one of collaboration and shared discovery through discussion, exemplifying exactly what the work of the community of interpreters should be, according to Slattery et al. (2007) who insist “the entire educational experience is open to reflection because everything requires recursive interpretation—a sustained conversation ” (p. 541). This sentiment is mirrored by Jardine

(2006) who makes an additional case for a hermeneutic process in which interpretation is

ever-evolving, “not definitive and final, but is one that keeps open the possibility and the

responsibility of returning, for the very next instance might demand of us that we

understand anew” (p. 160). Though in the Jewish tradition, the belief is that the scholars

of the past far surpass the wisdom of those who study the sacred texts today, of great

import is making practical the text under study.

In addressing the second false assumption regarding religious models of hermeneutics, in the havruta , at the same time that the text is read with an

59 acknowledgement of its original context, it is interpreted to be relevant to the lives of its modern-day students. The sacred texts under examination b’havruta are intended to communicate timeless manners of living in a timeless world; as Block (2004) describes, the hermeneutic study of sacred texts elicits “a holiness that can only be realized in our daily lives in this world” (p. 83). T herefore, the exchange in the havruta is as Slattery et al. (2007) discuss it, unbounded by the limits of the contextualized text. Hermeneutic study in the Jewish tradition is based on the notions that “all meaning is already within the text awaiting interpretation” (Block, p. 136); meaning is gained through dialogue, and as Block explains, interpretations provide a contemporary context that makes its meaning relevant. In its resistance to the assumptions about traditional hermeneutics, it is therefore significant to acknowledge that the havruta offers curriculum studies a unique model of textual practice that has the potential to re-conceptualize the interpretive process for the field.

Curriculum studies’ attentiveness to the necessity in textual inquiry for dialogic interchange unfettered by contextual restraints reveals the field’s concern with the intersection of pedagogy and hermeneutics. According to Jardine (2006), “It is not simply that pedagogy can be one of the themes of interpretive inquiry. Rather, interpretation is pedagogic at its very heart” (p. 152). Jardine argues that the parallel between interpretation and pedagogy is in the relationship between the new and the familiar.

Interpretation’s concern is with one—or two in the case of the havruta —identifying greater meaning within a familiar textual system, and pedagogy’s concern is with students gaining greater insight into an already familiar world. Hermeneutics is relevant to both cases: it is a reading, interpreting, rereading, and reinterpreting of the familiar to

60 glean something beyond the familiar, and in the case of the two studying b’havruta , the process consists additionally of discussion around this reading and interpretation.

Educational experience requires an acknowledgement that though we are familiar

with the world, we know little beyond what is familiar, and “that what we undertake in

the classroom is merely a hint of all that exists outside of it” (Block, 2004, p. 3). This is

also the experience of reading and interpreting. The world of the text is a limited world,

and the expectation is that through the interpretive work of textual study readers will

move from the limits of the context before them to generate greater meaning; it is a

movement from whole to part and back again from part to whole, a hermeneutic circle

(Blacker, 1993; Block, 2004). Very naturally the havruta , with its two members, participates in this hermeneutic circle through what Hans-Georg Gadamer (1976)

describes as “linguistic circles [that] come in contact with each other…never without the

inner infinity of the dialogue that is in progress between every speaker and his partner”

(p. 17). Here the conflict between pedagogy and hermeneutics surfaces; the pedagogic

complication exists in the lack of complete methodological control over hermeneutics’

free exchange of impressions. Curriculum studies is tasked, therefore, with reconciling

the pedagogical challenge to suspend the desire to predetermine the outcome of

hermeneutical work. The havruta , with its emphasis on the experience of textual

interpretation through dialogue in the hermeneutic circle, can therefore be of great pedagogic relevance to the field of curriculum studies in working to reconcile this

challenge. As the havruta’s pedagogical experience is governed by members as they

engage in its hermeneutic experience, there exists little if any focus on a strategic pedagogical outcome; thus, studying the havruta may provide a resolution to the tension

61 between hermeneutic experience and pedagogical outcome. At its core, the investigation of a havruta and how its members learn within its structure can be considered the act of reading and interpreting the text of educational experience, the pedagogical task of understanding the learning experience.

Chapter 3: Methods

Four to five days a week, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen sit down with sacred texts between then to learn b’havruta . They experience each other as they experience the text that teaches them how to live more ethical lives, and through their relationship with text and self they live more ethically. The primary question guiding this research study is how the members of this typical havruta case experience their learning relationship.

Methodologically, this study is qualitative in nature. The stories of Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen’s partnership, my own havruta with my grandfather, and the Biblical text of the

Book of Ruth are intertwined. These stories of shared inquiry comment on the experience of being in relationship and shed light on the significance of partnership in study. They frame this research study and encourage its hermeneutic theoretical perspective. These three distinct narratives read as one integrated story that details the experience of learning in partnership. At the center of this study is Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s representative havruta. To study one typical havruta pair, I am choosing to employ the methodology of

case study, and the specific methods I am using are observations and a final triangulating

interview. Under investigation in the case study is the traditional Jewish study dyad, the

havruta , which is customarily employed in the yeshiva to enhance textual understanding.

Here I research one particular havruta : that of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. The primary research questions guiding this study are: What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process?

The reason for my interest in studying this partnered form of learning stems from individuals’ great successes with it in and outside of traditional Jewish educational

63 settings, chief among them: enhanced engagement with sophisticated texts and commitment to lifelong learning. According to Aliza Segal (2003), Tikvah Scholar at The

Tikvah Center for Law and Jewish Civilization at New York University, “A student learns better by serving as a resource to peers, and by being guided by a peer” (p. 10), and because the havruta model mandates a reading aloud from the text under study, it has been shown to result in greater retention of material. The model is unique in that it

operates during non-teaching, non-teacher-directed hours and is cooperative in nature

with students working as diligently to ensure their partner’s textual comprehension as to

ensure their own (Segal, 2003). Hermeneutics in this study allowed the havruta to operate

as an interpretable text open to examination.

Epistemological and Theoretical Perspective

The Epistemological and Theoretical Perspective guiding this research study is

hermeneutics, drawing on hermeneutic theory from Judaic scholarship, philosophical

hermeneutics, and curriculum studies.

Jewish hermeneutics informs the methodology of this study by way of the belief

that text mediates dialogue. In Judaism, studying Torah is synonymous with

communicating with G-d; therefore, study is a holy act—that of engaging in dialogue

with the divine (Berkowitz, 1905). This concept emerges because G-d is accessible by

way of the text that dictates the manner in which people are to ethically live. Jews desire

to be close to G-d and to live as G-d intends, and because the text is a physical

representation of G-d, the text serves as a conduit for relationship with the divine—a tool

to mediate dialogue. The concept of text as mediating dialogue is significant to the design

of this study because at this study’s center is the textual product. I might have chosen to

64 interview Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen about their experience learning b’havruta , but by

centering the text in observation sessions, the text dually operated as a mediator of

dialogue between the members of the havruta and between the participants and the researcher.

Philosophical hermeneutics’ struggle to reconcile the variety of applications associated with the philology of classical texts of the Greek tradition and the exegesis of religious texts of the Judeo-Christian tradition additionally informs the methodology of this study. In Ricoeur’s (1981) articulation of this conflict, he hypothesizes a resolution that includes a universal manner of interpreting texts. This study likewise prioritizes the manner in which all texts may be studied rather than on the particular manner in which a text of a specific religious tradition is studied. Philosophical hermeneutics is not interested in the “particularity of the rules and recipes into which the art of understanding is dispersed” (Ricoeur, 1981, p. 45), thus the focus here is on the experience of study between two learning partners rather than on Jewish ways of interpreting texts.

Methodologically, the observation sessions were designed with an interest in the manner in which the two men related to each other and experienced their learning time together not in the aptitude with which they employed particular hermeneutic strategies of traditional Jewish exegesis.

Additionally, the methodology of this study was influenced by the field of curriculum studies which holds interests in the relationships between “language, culture, learning, and teaching” (Sumara, 2002, p. 14) and in interpreting and reinterpreting educational experience. This study of a model of textual interpretation from the Jewish learning tradition particularly reflects curriculum studies’ concern with sites of learning

65 and the field’s insistence that what one knows cannot fully be differentiated from who one is. For this reason, this study was designed to honor the religious tradition from which Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen come. The site of all observations and the final triangulating interview was the space in which the men traditionally learn, and all efforts were made not to disrupt the natural environment of the men’s typical learning situation.

In practice, hermeneutics serves as the interpretation of the text of the havruta within its larger contexts: textual and personal narratives of relationship; Torah study; present-day observant Judaism; and the partnership of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen.

“Perspective” is the precise word to use when describing hermeneutic interpretation; from Middle English, the word means to look at closely and was originally employed when describing the experience of peering into a mirror. To view a text through the hermeneutic circle of interpretation is to view the whole of the text and relate it to its parts and then to view the parts of a text and relate them to its whole (Schwandt 2001). It is the act of interpreting the text from two perspectives: close and distanced, zooming in and out and attempting to make sense of the relationship between the parts and the whole until some sense of meaning can be made about the text under study. Schwandt (2001) refers to this moment of sense-making as one in which the “whole and parts are related in perfect harmony” (p. 112). The events of observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen b’havruta ; recording field notes; writing memos; coding memos; interviewing the havruta ; analyzing; and interpreting the data were the whole and parts of this hermeneutic circle.

Research Questions

The primary focus for this research study was to investigate a havruta’s experience learning together; therefore, the central questions directing this study were:

What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process?

Research Design

To answer the posed research questions, I employed a case study methodology.

Robert Yin (2003) notes, case studies are the preferred strategy when the researcher does not control the events of the situation under study and when the event under study occurs within “some real-life context” (p.1). My research questions satisfy Yin’s (2003) specifications as does the event under investigation, the havruta , which is a study experience managed by the participating members that occurs within their real study lives. Study b’havruta is a standard practice within Jewish communities between learning partners who wish to better understand the manner in which G-d wishes them to live ethically. Though individual havruta units may choose to personalize their manner of learning together, there exists a standard model of study. Specifically, this case study followed a holistic, single-case design: the examination of one havruta pair, and I used

Joseph Maxwell’s (2005) notion of “purposeful sampling” to gain this pair of participants

as purposeful sampling in qualitative research garners “information-rich cases, with the

objective of yielding insight and understanding” (Bloomberg & Volpe, 2008). The

rationale for the holistic, single-case design was that the particular havruta I chose to

study is “ representative or typical ” (Yin, p. 41) of a havruta . In investigating this one

representative pair, my intention was to identify the fundamental experience of a

67 particular havruta . Further, the research design followed a holistic model because the investigation involved one single-unit of analysis, one havruta pair.

It is a common practice in the Jewish community to invite guests to one’s home

for Shabbos (the weekly-observed commemoration of the day G-d rested from the work

of creating the world). The invitation extends from Friday evening before sunset until

Saturday night after sunset, and the time consists of structured prayer, socializing,

relaxation, and lavish meals. A year ago I was fortunate to be invited to the Steins’ (a pseudonym) home for Shabbos . During the Friday night meal, Rabbi Stein’s daughter, a

friend of mine, encouraged me to share with her father the research I was interested in

conducting for my dissertation. After telling him a little about my proposed project,

including the limitations on my participant sample, Rabbi Stein generously asked if I

would be interested in analyzing his havruta for my study. I was flattered at the offer, and our subsequent conversation led me to invite Rabbi Stein and his havruta, Mr. Rosen

(also a pseudonym), to participate in this project.

The particular havruta I examined is comprised of two men, and the choice of gender was a deliberate one. As the havruta model likely emerged from the traditional

Lithuanian yeshiva where only males were educated (Segal, 2003), studying a yeshiva - educated, male havruta pair accentuated the effort to study this havruta as a typical case.

The members of this havruta are also adults not presently enrolled in an educational institution. Though the havruta’s roots are in an educational setting, and though the havruta is still a central part of study in the contemporary yeshiva , I initially chose to examine a havruta outside of an academic setting because of imposed limitations. As a woman I have limited access to a traditional yeshiva and as an unmarried woman, private

68 meetings with unmarried yeshiva students is socially discouraged. These limitations proved to make impossible individual interviews and imposed great restrictions on my planned observations of the members of the havruta as they were actively engaged in study in a formal educational setting. Though there were some options available within the limitations on my access to the yeshiva and its students, the result of working within these limitations would have potentially skewed my full ability to make meaning of the havruta . As a result, I determined that a havruta comprised of self-taught or yeshiva - educated participants no longer matriculating in an academic program, married, and of my parents’ generation would be better suited for participation in my study. Despite the fact that initially this choice was made due to imposed limitations, I remain satisfied with my chosen havruta and recognize the distinct advantages I enjoyed in working with a non-school-aged population. Among these advantages is the length of time the participants have worked b’havruta —together and with other partners; the maturity of the two participants; and the participants’ abilities to more fully and sophisticatedly articulate their experiences of learning in the havruta .

The two men of the havruta under study, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, live in a neighborhood of Montgomery County, Maryland that is comprised of a significant population of Orthodox Jews. I chose to work with a havruta within this community and close to my apartment in Washington, D.C. because the majority of men of this particular community are yeshiva -educated, because they are dedicated to regular Torah study, and because they were geographically accessible. Each man identifies himself as Orthodox, a category of Jewish religious practice that indicates a stricter adherence to the laws of the faith. Both men follow the laws of covering their heads and wearing tycyc (tzitzit), or

69 prayer shawls with symbolic tassels; eating kosher diets; keeping the laws of Sabbath; and daily studying the Torah . Each man is also an active member of the local Jewish community and lw# shul (Jewish house of worship—from the Yiddish word for

“school,” again demonstrating the synonymy for Jews of study and prayer). Rabbi Stein is an attorney and religious leader in his community, and Mr. Rosen holds a position in a secular profession in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Both men choose to study b’havruta because of the religious obligation on Jewish men of daily study and their personal interest in religious growth.

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen meet together four to five times per week to learn

Talmud and related Jewish texts together. Their meetings typically last between one to two hours and are held at the Etz Chaim Synagogue (a fictitious name) in Montgomery

County, Maryland. For this project, I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen b’havruta in

their natural setting for ten full study sessions. During these ten sessions, I initially

maintained the position of what John Creswell (2003) refers to as a “complete observer,”

taking “fieldnotes on the behavior and activities” (p. 185) of the havruta and recording its

event but not actively participating in it. The advantages of maintaining a complete

observer position include gaining personal experience with participants; real-time records

of the event; insight into atypical aspects of the event; and information participants may be reluctant to share through interviewing (p. 85). Just as there are advantages to this

research method, there are also limitations. Of those Creswell lists, the one relevant to

this project is that as an observer, I could have been viewed as intrusive and subsequently

may have disrupted the standard routine of the havruta . Though this was a genuine

concern, it should be noted that study in the havruta is traditionally done in a room of a

70 beit midrash (“house of study”) full of other havruta pairs who are energetically reading,

discussing, and debating the sacred texts under study, so my silent observation of Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen likely did not affect the men’s routine. Nonetheless, in an additional

effort to diminish the effect of the limitation noted by Creswell, I conducted a paired

interview of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen following the tenth observation session in an

effort to gain as accurate an understanding of the havruta as possible.

After the first several sessions in which I maintained my role as a silent observer,

the members of the havruta subtly invited me to participate in their learning sessions.

They began by testing my Jewish knowledge with simple questions throughout their

sessions. Eventually, instead of asking general questions, they began to ask my opinion

about what they were studying; in this way, I became a member of their learning

community. Though it is not standard for a researcher to transition from a silent observer

to an active participant, I felt the move was an ethical one because Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen invited me to join their havruta . Doing so seemed like an organic next step in our developing relationship.

In addition to observations, I conducted a final triangulating interview. My research question inquired about the experience of members of a havruta, and “at the root

of in-depth interviewing is an interest in understanding the experience of other people

and the meaning they make of that experience” (Seidman, 1991, p. 3). Logistically,

Creswell (2003) explains that a distinct advantage to interviewing is the control the

researcher has over the questions he or she may ask of participants. According to

Maxwell (2005), “observation can enable [the researcher] to draw inferences” about the perspective unattainable by exclusively interviewing, and “interviews can provide

71 additional information that was missed in observation” (p. 94). By interviewing after observing, then, I was able to ask about practices viewed during my observations in an effort to ensure that if they have been altered because of my presence at the sessions, I was still able to capture the manner in which the men typically learn together. Creswell also outlines the following as limitations to interviewing, it: “provides ‘indirect’ information filtered through the views of interviewees; provides information in a designated ‘place’ rather than the natural field setting; creates a situation in which a researcher’s presence may bias responses; creates a situation in which people are not equally articulate and perceptive” (p. 186). However, by conducting both interviews and observations in a dual-method approach, each of these limitations were satisfied. Yin

(2003) warns that single-method approaches to research should not be relied upon when utilizing a case study methodology and states, “a major strength of case study data collection is the opportunity to use many different sources of evidence” (p. 97).

Therefore, by employing the methods of both observation and interview, triangulation was more effectively achieved, and there was a reduced “risk that [my] conclusions reflected only the systematic biases or limitations of a specific source or method”

(Maxwell, p. 93). My primary research question asked about the experience of learning in the havruta, and my aim in using two different methods of data collection was to gain a fuller picture of this experience.

The first iteration of my data collection plan began with a paired interview of

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen followed by seven observations of their havruta in practice.

After these seven observations, I had planned to interview Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen

independently from one another, to observe three more havruta sessions, and to

72 triangulate the data with a final paired interview with both Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen.

This first plan for data collection took the following shape:

Paired Interview: Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen Observation 1: havruta session Observation 2: havruta session Observation 3: havruta session Observation 4: havruta session Observation 5: havruta session Observation 6: havruta session Observation 7: havruta session Individual Interview: Rabbi Stein Individual Interview: Mr. Rosen Observation 8: havruta session Observation 9: havruta session Observation 10: havruta session Paired Interview: Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen

Though this was my initial plan for data collection, the direction of my plan changed twice during the data collection phase.

The first change made to my first data collection plan was initiated by the participants at our first meeting at Etz Chaim Synagogue. At that meeting I had

anticipated introducing myself and the study to the men as well as conducting an initial paired interview with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. However, as soon as the men sat down

at the table with me, they began their study session as they likely do each time they meet

to learn together. Though I might have interrupted them to redirect the evening’s agenda

to conduct my introductions and planned interview, I felt that the men were offering me a

valuable opportunity to learn how they regularly study together, so I refrained from

interrupting and began observing the men b’havruta .

The second change I made to my first data collection plan was initiated by the

rhythm of havruta observation sessions 1 through 6 and is supported by the flexible

nature of qualitative research. As the men and I began to fall into a rhythm of learning

73 together, I felt less and less that individual interviews with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen were necessary to the study. The fluid nature of the sessions and the open conversations between Rabbi Stein, Mr. Rosen, and me prompted my elimination of these previously- planned individual interviews, and I continued to observe and participate in havruta sessions one through ten before conducting an interview with the men to triangulate my observation session data.

The second and final iteration of my plan for data collection included ten

observations of the participants b’havruta followed by a paired interview with Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen. I concluded my data collection with a final paired interview to

clarify any remaining questions and to triangulate the data collected from the preceding

ten observations. The final data collection schedule took the following shape:

Observation 1: havruta session Observation 2: havruta session Observation 3: havruta session Observation 4: havruta session Observation 5: havruta session Observation 6: havruta session Observation 7: havruta session Observation 8: havruta session Observation 9: havruta session Observation 10: havruta session Paired Interview: Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen

Though the immediate reason for not holding an initial interview with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen was prompted by the organic rhythm of their learning together, in reflection, a methodological rationale exists for not beginning a qualitative study with a preemptive interview. This rationale suggests that beginning with observations ensures as little front-loaded bias as possible. In other words, by not directly asking the men my

74 research questions in the form of an initial interview, I was able to approach my observations in the havruta’s natural setting with the openness to notice what I noticed.

In terms of the number of observation sessions included my data collection plan, I chose to observe the havruta ten times because I believed that that number of sessions would provide me with substantial data to begin to answer my research questions. After observation ten I ended my data collection with a paired interview with Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen. In this final interview, in addition to asking summarizing questions, I articulated my understanding of the experience learning b’havruta and gave Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen an opportunity to explain anything they believed I had misunderstood, or that needed clarification, about their experience. This final interview also afforded the men an opportunity to express any final thoughts about the manner in which they practice learning in the havruta .

Data-Collection Methods

Observations 1-10: Havruta sessions. The ten havruta observations took place in intervals of between 1 and 3 per week for six weeks. During my observations of the havruta , I initially maintained the role of complete observer (Creswell, 2003), taking field notes on the activity of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen but not interacting with them.

After several sessions with the havruta , the men invited me to participate in their learning group by asking me questions about the text under study, and I transitioned from a complete observer to an active participant. The aspects of the men’s exchange that became apparent during my observations and that I paid particular attention to were the following:

Tone of voice Facial expressions

Body language Engagement with partner Engagement with text Energy-level Physical interaction Moments of silence Moments of disagreement Rhetorical strategy and style

I chose not to video record Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta sessions for two

reasons. The first reason for this choice was because of the effect recording might have

had on the participants. Even when in the event’s natural setting, video recording often

has the effect of making participants self-conscious and of changing their typical behaviors. Though there was no way to entirely remove the element of being viewed, my

hope was that my attendance in the havruta sessions would have been less distracting

than a video recorder would have been. The second reason I chose not to video record the

havruta sessions was because of the inauthentic aspect of a recording of a lived

experience. In observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen as they learned, I believe much more

was gained in vicariously experiencing the havruta through them than it might have been by capturing a surface impression of their meeting via video recording.

After each havruta session, I wrote a memo about the experience of observing

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. Following the suggestion of Coffey and Atkinson (1996), in

these memos I reflected on the event I observed as well as on the way in which the event began to answer my posed research questions; through writing memos I was therefore

simultaneously collecting and analyzing my data.

Paired interview: Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen were both present for the interview that followed the ten havruta sessions. The choice of

conducting a paired interview as the culminating data collection event for this research

76 study imitated the havruta model in that by engaging Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen in a

conversation aimed at answering the stated research questions, the study partners were

able to work together to make meaning of their experience learning b’havruta as they might make meaning together of a sacred text.

The interview with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen followed the tenth havruta session

observation and was scheduled two days after that observed session. Referring to

Dolbeare and Schuman’s three interview series, Irving Seidman (1991) explains that the

final interview “encourages the participants to reflect on the meaning their experience

holds for them” (p. 11). In large measure, this paired interview was the culminating and

summarizing event of data collection, and it was a last opportunity in this research study

to clarify the meaning of the havruta experience for the two participants .

The purpose of hosting this interview was to allow the participants to clarify

aspects of their experience learning b’havruta . In Patton’s (2002) words, “we interview people to find out from them those things we cannot directly observe” (p. 340). For the

ten observation sessions, I had taken field notes, had written memos based on each

session’s field notes, and had coded each session’s field notes. These codes included etic

and emic codes. The etic codes emerged from the theoretical perspective, hermeneutics.

Patton (2002) explains that hermeneutics “reminds us that what something means

depends on the cultural context in which it was originally created as well as the cultural

context within which it is subsequently interpreted” (p. 113). Hermeneutics, therefore, is

concerned with interpretation within a particular context. For this study, the context is

multi-layered. There is the text under study by the members of the havruta which is

understood as emerging from an historical time period, but there is also the text’s value in

77 present-day Judaism. A third context is that of the men studying b’havruta ; they are members of a religiously observant community that is as much to be interpreted as the text they are learning. Finally, there is the context of the relationship between Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. The etic codes emergent from this study are revealed when reading these contexts, these multiple texts. The emic codes emerged from the participants’ language.

As Patton (2002) explains, emic codes consist of the “language and categories used by the people in the culture studied” (p. 267). Thus, as Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen spoke about their experience b’havruta , they provided me with emic codes to attend to in my field notes, memos, and in the final triangulating interview. Having compiled a robust list of themes from the etic and emic codes, I might have chosen to simply hand Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen my list and asked them to speak to whether they appropriately captured their experience learning b’havruta . I might also have had them answer a survey or questionnaire to gain any additional information they thought I might need to answer my research questions. However, for three reasons, I deliberately chose not to utilize a survey or questionnaire as the culminating method of data collection but to employ the method of interviewing to triangulate my collected data.

The first reason I chose to interview Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen was because of the intimacy of the conversation space an interview, versus a questionnaire or a survey, provides. Kvale and Brinkmann (2009) refer to this intimacy as the “interpersonal situation” (p. 32) of interviewing, and they elaborate that the interaction between the interviewer and the interviewees is an important way each party aids in co-constructing the knowledge of the situation in which each plays a role. After spending six weeks together closely studying sacred texts, I saw the interview setting as a space that enabled

78 a greater intimacy than a survey or a questionnaire could educe. My second reason for using the interview method is what Kvale and Brinkmann refer to as the “positive experience” (p. 32) of interviewing. In contrast to administering a questionnaire or a survey, the live interview can serve as a “rare and enriching experience for the subject[s], who may obtain new insights” (p. 32) about their lives and their experiences through the process. In this way, the interview has the capability to encourage participants to speak more freely about the topic under study and to even elicit a verbalization of perspectives they were unsure they were holding. As a result of interviewing, what can be gained is a fuller and more satisfying experience for both the researcher and the participants than the limited responses garnered by a survey or questionnaire. Finally, my third reason for interviewing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen stemmed from my interest in seeing the two men interact outside of their havruta . Over the course of the research project, I had ample opportunity to observe Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen b’havruta , and their manner of interacting in that situation had become very familiar to me. However, without the experience of witnessing their interaction outside of the havruta , I feared I could have misunderstood their manners of interacting b’havruta as particular to that event. The initial paired interview, then, provided me with a way to understand their interaction when not formally studying together.

Many of the questions for the culminating paired interview resulted from the observed havruta sessions. Of primary importance was a fuller articulation of answers for

the stated research questions. The research questions for this project were:

1. What is the experience of learning in a particular havruta ? 2. What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process?

Kvale and Brinkmann (2009) note, “the qualitative interviewer encourages the subjects to describe as precisely as possible what they experience and feel and how they act” (p. 30) in the event under study, and the representation of the participants’ experiences can be greatly affected by the researcher and his or her interview questions.

Consequently, my responsibility was to craft questions that would prompt the participants to answer in ways that revealed the deep experience of working b’havruta . Maxwell

(2005) states, “interviews can provide additional information that was missed in

observation, and can be used to check the accuracy of the observations” (p. 94). To that

end, I had initially planned to ask the following questions in the final interview as

emergent from the ten havruta observation sessions:

1. How does it feel to study together? In other words, what happens in two that does not happen when one is studying alone? 2. How is it different learning b'havruta in the Yeshiva ? 3. What is at stake in the Yeshiva that is not in the shul's beit midrash ? 4. Why do you study in public (as opposed to someone's home or another location)? 5. How did you decide to study the laws of the Sanhedrin ? 6. How did you decide whom to study with? 7. Do you study with anyone else? (Why? and/or Why not?) 8. Is it important for your havruta that you know each other personally? 9. What place does autobiography and joke-telling play in your study? 10. How did I change your study time together? 11. How would you define the havruta ? 12. Why are there no other women studying here? 13. Did you teach your daughters to study b'havruta ? 14. Why did you agree to be in my study?

Throughout this research study, and much to my pleasure, I found that Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen understood our relationship to be less a researcher-to-participants

relationship and more a co-participants relationship. As when I began my first

observation of their havruta session and Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen began their havruta

80 study of reading and interpreting without formality, the final interview with the study pair was directed by the participants and not the researcher. Thus our conversation began without a question from me but with Rabbi Stein discussing the nature of the havruta and

that it is a model exclusively used with Talmud study. As Rabbi Stein began with this

statement, the first question I asked followed this comment. I asked, “Do you maybe

want to start with that? Can you tell me why you believe it’s [ havruta is] used exclusively with Talmud study?” As the interview-turned-conversation continued, Rabbi Stein discussed the importance of legal analysis in Talmud study, and Mr. Rosen explained the manner in which Rabbi Stein and he began learning yl#m (Mishley ), or “The Book of

Proverbs,” which is not a text from the Talmud and thus not traditionally studied with a havruta . From this comment, I was motivated to ask about the decision to study this text in their havruta , and the conversation continued with Rabbi Stein explaining the choice and then continuing to explain the way in which study is conducted in the yeshiva . I followed this explanation with a question about the role the havruta plays for yeshiva students, and Rabbi Stein shared his personal experience learning in a havruta as a yeshiva student.

From this short description of the beginning of the conversation that was the study’s culminating interview, it is obvious that I veered from the initial script of interview questions. Though I did not ask each question in the order I anticipated, I was able to cover the topics of all of my crafted interview questions and resultantly was able to garner a full description of the havruta and the men’s experience learning in their particular havruta.

The interview was held at Etz Chaim Synagogue where the havruta sessions were held but not in the same room in which the men, and others b’havruta , learn. I chose to house this interview conversation in the building in which Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen typically study to provide as nearly as possible the tone of the havruta sessions, but I did not want to interview the men in the beit midrash for four reasons. First, I did not wish to disturb any of the other havrutot (plural for havruta ) in their study sessions. Second, I did

not want to disrespectfully suggest that the room dedicated for Talmud study should be

used for another purpose. Third, I did not wish to draw undue attention to Rabbi Stein

and Mr. Rosen by interviewing them so publicly. Fourth and finally, from a logistical perspective, because the interview was audio recorded, I wanted to ensure the integrity of

the sound quality of the recording.

In addition to audio recording the interview, I took notes as the two participants

answered my questions and conversed about their experiences learning b’havruta . When

a participant’s answer naturally led to an additional question, I subsequently asked that

question. Further, when one participant posed a question of the other participant, that

question and accompanying answer were also recorded and acknowledged as interview

data.

Adhering to Seidman’s (1991) guidelines for interviewing, the interview was planned for ninety minutes in length with flexibility built in to that time allotment to accommodate either a longer or shorter conversation. I was dedicated to allowing Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen to determine the flow of the conversation as they had directed the course of the majority of our time together throughout the study. I was also attentive to the rhythm of the conversation, and when the participants signaled that they had shared

82 all that they wished and all that they felt was relevant, we ended the interview. In the end, the conversation between Rabbi Stein, Mr. Rosen, and me elapsed ninety-two minutes.

Following the ten observation sessions and the culminating interview, I adhered to

Patton’s (2002) insistence that “the period after an interview or observation is critical to the rigor and validity of qualitative inquiry” (p. 383) and is vital for ensuring data quality.

It was imperative, then, that following the observations and paired interview, I reviewed my field notes to ensure their clarity and to reinforce the content of the interview or observation. Maxwell (2005) warns that “one of the most common problems in qualitative studies is letting…unanalyzed field notes and transcripts pile up” (p. 95); therefore, immediately following the paired interview session, I wrote a memo on the experience. In the immediate memo, Patton suggests addressing such questions as

“Where did the interview occur? Under what conditions? How did the interviewee react to questions? How well do you think you did asking questions? How was the rapport?”

(p. 384); then Patton suggests that after reviewing this information, the researcher should additionally write a memo an answer to the question of whether what the researcher intended to elicit from the participants was successfully gained. I wrote memos on both sets of questions and after completing both memo phases, I transcribed the audio recording of the interview, verbatim. Coding, or what Creswell (2003) defines as “taking text data or pictures, segmenting sentences (or paragraphs) or images into categories, and labeling those categories with a term” (p. 192), was done for both the session notes and the interview transcript for use in beginning to answer the stated research questions. etic codes, emergent from the multiple contexts of this study and emic codes, emergent from the transcript in the language of the participants, were identified as they appeared.

Data Analysis

In true qualitative fashion, my approach to data analysis developed over the course of the study. From the first day of the study, my intended plan for data collection was altered; subsequently, the manner in which I analyzed the data emergent from the new plan for data collection was different than I had anticipated. What remained consistent were the etic codes I planned to identify in the data which were emergent from the literature on hermeneutics. Initial data was collected from two primary sources: field notes from observation sessions and transcription notes from the audio-recorded final triangulating interview. After each observation session, additional data came from the memos I wrote based on my experiences observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning together. Two days after drafting the memos of my experiences, I returned to my memos and annotated them, reflecting on my second review of field notes; the sessions themselves; the previous sessions observed; and the relevant key concepts from the literature on hermeneutics and curriculum studies. Prior to conducting the final triangulating interview, I had collected data from the following sources: original field notes of observation sessions; memos on observation sessions; and reflective annotations on the observation session memos. In the written data, I identified emic codes emergent from the participants’ language and I color-coded these, articulating these as themes. The final piece of collected data was an audio-recording and accompanying notes from the final triangulating interview with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. After the interview, I wrote a memo on the experience of interviewing the men of the havruta and I transcribed the audio-recording and color-coded both the interview notes and transcription based on the themes I established from the etic and emic codes earlier identified.

As I immersed myself in the data, I began to read it as another narrative of this research study—a narrative to be read and interpreted hermeneutically. Reading the data in this way, I was able to detect emerging patterns. Themes repeatedly revealed themselves and the narrative began to take the shape of a familiar story. What I identified in the data were parallels to the five books of the Torah : ty#r)b (Bereishit ) Genesis , twm# (Shemot ) Exodus , )rqyw (Vayikra ) Leviticus , rbdmb (Bamidbar ) Numbers , and

Myrbd (Devarim ) Deuteronomy . The data told the story of relationship—from strangers

to partners—just as the chapters of the Torah depict the relationship that grows between

G-d and the Israelites out of a world of nothingness into a land of promise. As the data

took the shape of the text of the Bible, I began to question what other parallels existed between the multiple narratives of this research study.

My analysis of the data, therefore, primarily consisted of questioning the data before me, a strategy in the tradition of the Jewish pedagogical model and which honored

the site of learning of which curriculum studies is primarily concerned. The act of

questioning is not only a key tool of the Jewish manner of educating, but it is also most

central to my own engagement in study. Questioning the text of the data brought me to

reflect on what Levinas as referenced in Hand (1989) discusses as “the distinction between the obvious meaning and the one which has to be deciphered…this buried

meaning…contained within the first” (p. 194). Through my employ of questioning, the

text was not all that was interrogated. As Block (2004) explains, questions have the potential to probe at the deepest level of meaning in both the literal text before us—in this case the text of the data—and the text of the self. Therefore, as I questioned the field notes, memos, annotations, and transcription of this study, I was questioning myself.

Hermeneutically, then, the text of the data operated as the text under Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen’s study: it mediated dialogue, but this time with the self.

It follows, then, that an additional text interpreted here is the text of my experience with textual study. This work, therefore, includes much autobiography from its beginning. In chapter one, I recount memories of my first exploration into textual study b’havruta with my grandfather, but the connection between my own first

experiences with textual study and this research project were not immediately obvious to

me at the start of this project. In fact and ironically, initially I did not even recognize in

this research study any of myself. However, as I interrogated the text of Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen’s havruta , I started to recognize the familiar. Rabbi Stein is yeshiva -educated much like my grandfather was; Mr. Rosen studied Talmud outside of the classroom, like me. In the relationship between the two men, I see that each plays a significant role in their havruta ; though the roles are of equal value, they are not the same. Rabbi Stein is the authority on Talmud , and Mr. Rosen is the philosopher. Rabbi Stein is skilled at argumentation and the principles of Jewish hermeneutical exegesis, and Mr. Rosen possesses a rich background in secular humanities and rhetoric. What Rabbi Stein takes for granted about the text, Mr. Rosen challenges. What Mr. Rosen has not learned about

Talmud and Jewish logic, Rabbi Stein teaches.

In my own havruta with Tami, we two enjoy a similar dynamic to that of Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen. She attended seminary and is formally educated in the study of religious texts; I learned more informally at my grandfather’s knee. Her world is a cloistered one within the orthodox community, and mine is the limitless secular world.

Her Hebrew is pristine; my literary analysis is advanced. When we learn together, she

86 attends to the literal and I attend to the interpretive. Without each other, there is no way to make sense of the text under study.

Identifying the parallels between the havrutot (plural for havruta ) of which I have been and continue to be a part and Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta and acknowledging these parallels greatly impacts the methodology of this research study, though I am careful not to allow it to impose itself on my understanding of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s experience of learning b’havruta . The methodology is case study, but in hermeneutically weaving together the narratives of Ruth, Naomi, my grandfather, Rabbi

Stein, Mr. Rosen, and Tami, I necessarily include the autobiographical. Each of these stories intersects with my own experience interpreting texts. This work contains multiple narratives; one of which is my own.

Ethical Considerations

Jewish men are obligated to study Torah daily. The participants in this study take

seriously this religious requirement and choose to study b’havruta as one way of

satisfying this obligation. In my request to study the manner in which Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen learn b’havruta , I acknowledged their fulfillment of a religious commandment

and honored them. To that end, there were limited risks to either participant in this study,

and anonymity was not a pressing concern. Nonetheless, throughout this dissertation and

in any future publications or presentations on this research, I am dedicated to referring to

the two participants with the pseudonyms, “Rabbi Stein” and “Mr. Rosen.”

Other concerns typical in a research study of this nature beyond confidentiality in publications included participation in the answering of questions and in the general

activities of the study. To address these concerns, I drafted an Informed Consent

Agreement (see Appendix A) that clearly outlined the activities required of participants in this study and offered participants the option of refraining from answering any question or for taking part in any part of this project had they felt unwilling or unable to do so.

This study is hermeneutic in nature, focusing on one typical case havruta . Of

central importance to me was to honor Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s experiences in study

together and to be attentive to the ways in which their experiences could inform the field

of secular curriculum studies.

Chapter 4: Results

The primary research questions guiding this study are: What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process? The first research question attempts to capture the nature of the experience the men have when they learn together b’havruta ,

whereas the second research question focuses on the implications of this research for the

field of curriculum studies. This chapter’s primary purpose is to tell the story of the

research; therefore, focus here is on the first of the two research questions. In addition to

the primary research questions guiding this work, in this project, I am also examining

how the havruta operates as an avenue of study and how it might be employed in the

secular literature classroom. The results outlined in this chapter are based on my

collected, analyzed, and interpreted data from the observation sessions I spent with Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen as well as from our final triangulating interview together.

Hermeneutics, informed by the fields of Judaic scholarship, philosophical

hermeneutics, and curriculum studies, guides this research study.

The concept that text mediates dialogue is central to Jewish hermeneutics. For

Jews, the study of Torah is tantamount to engaging in dialogue with G-d. This is so because the central textual product that Jews study, the Torah , emerged from the oral law

or the law that originally was dictated to Moses by G-d on Mt. Sinai. Since that initial

dictation, the oral law has been written down in an act of preservation, enabling Jews

generations hence to participate in holy conversation. The language of Torah is G-d

speaking to the Jewish people, and therefore through textual interpretation, Jews begin to

engage in dialogue with G-d. However, G-d’s language is complex to understand, and

89 thus to decipher G-d’s messages, students must engage with each other in dialogue that mediates the text to render it comprehensible.

Philosophical hermeneutics finds itself engaged in a struggle to reconcile the variety of applications associated with the philology of classical texts of the Greek tradition and the exegesis of religious texts of the Judeo-Christian tradition. The process is a natural one to interpretive practice, “the same interpretive process human beings use constantly” (Sumara, 2002, p. 30) in working to understand the events of their lives. Each tradition is rule-laden, thus to negotiate the struggle philosophical hermeneutics experiences between the two traditions, philosophical hermeneutics proposes abandoning the specific rules of textual interpretation as dictated by a particular tradition in favor of putting into hermeneutic practice a set of guidelines by which all texts may be studied

and interpreted. In so doing, philosophical hermeneutics communicates its priority on the

universal experience of textual study.

The field of curriculum studies holds interests in the endeavors of interpreting and

reinterpreting the educational experience. Two of the key concerns for the field of

curriculum studies are locations of learning and knowledge that comprises the self.

Curriculum studies occupies itself in a hermeneutic dialogue involving interpretation and

reinterpretation in the experience of participants involved in multiple “discursive

systems, practices, and communities” (Sumara & Davis, 1988, p. 76) that comprise their

identities, and Sumara (1996) writes that the need for self-interpretation is hermeneutic:

“It is the kind of questioning that emerges from our continual need to define and re-

define ourselves in relationship to our world and each other” (p. 40). Curriculum theorist

David G. Smith (1991) adds that hermeneutics’ interest is in “the question of human

90 meaning and of how we might make sense of our lives” (p. 200). Therefore the manner in which curriculum studies comments on hermeneutics is in its focus on the situations in which learning takes place and in the making of meaning readers experience through their work with texts.

From the theoretical fields of Jewish hermeneutics, philosophical hermeneutics, and curriculum studies, thus, the following concepts are relevant to this work: text as mediating dialogue, relationship as essential to the act of reading, sites of learning as significant, and the self as comprised of what one knows. These concepts frame the research and became the etic codes I attended to as I read the relationship between the members of the havruta .

The Choice of Havruta

During the ten sessions in which I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen in their study dyad, I often felt quite fortunate to have my own havruta to learn with. Watching the benefit the men enjoy from their partnership reminded me of my own feelings of gratification in my study with Tami. Our time learning together has enhanced my experience of textual interpretation, and in our partnership, I understand our intense relationship to be a result of our depth of investment in mutual study. Learning in a havruta has changed the nature of my own experience of reading texts and it has intensified my personal relationship with Tami. In fact, today I consider Tami one of my dearest friends, and yet when we began learning together, we were complete strangers.

Our time b’havruta is to thank for our connection.

The experience of studying with another with whom I share an emotional connection ultimately inspired my first research question: What is the experience of

91 learning in the havruta ? Having studied with my own havruta , Tami, one might question, then, why I did not choose to investigate my own experience learning in partnership .

Before actually observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning together, I identified two distinct ways in which my havruta with Tami differed from that of the two men, and both

of these differences were central to my decision to study Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s

havruta as opposed to my own.

In choosing a havruta to study, I was particularly interested in examining the

relationship between two members of a study dyad that had been sustained for at least a

decade of time learning together. The havruta focused on here has learned together for

more than eleven years, thus they fit this qualification. As a novice both learning Torah

and learning b’havruta , I was moved to ask about the experience of learning in a havruta

for a dyad well-versed in Talmud and its study. Therefore, in choosing a havruta to study,

I was interested in a pair that approached texts at a yeshiva -level of sophistication. Here too, in Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, I found such an example. At the time of my data collection, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen were engaged in the type of study I was most interested in observing: the men were learning a book of the Talmud named tractate

Sanhedrin which is a text that deals with judicial procedures. In particular, the laws of

this tractate are complex and require great experience to interpret, and I was most

interested in observing the manner in which two experienced students of Talmud

approached the work together. I feel extremely fortunate that I was granted the

opportunity to have Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen participate in this research study and that

I was present to witness the men work through such a sophisticated text together.

Entering the Tradition

Though I was confident in my choice of havruta , upon my first visit to meet with

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, I still felt nervous about my qualifications for embarking on my observations of their havruta . I sat in my car parked in the Etz Chaim Synagogue parking lot for quite some time that evening before venturing inside; all the while, my heart was pounding. I worried, “Do I know what I am doing? Will two religious men really share their experiences of learning together with me? Will I recognize what is significant and should be noted? Am I ready to be here?” I had not anticipated my

nervousness or my asking of these questions. Most likely I had not considered that I

might feel as I did on that first night because up until the moment I drove into the parking

lot at Etz Chaim, the project was an organized proposal in black type on white paper.

Once I parked my car in the shul’s parking lot, though, I was struck by the fact that I was

about to come face-to-face with real live participants whom I valued and whom I wanted

to be sure I would honor. Though I was flustered by the feeling, it was not the first time I

had experienced such worries about my potential unpreparedness. Each year for the

seventeen years I have taught, I am sleepless the night before the first day of classes begin. My worries are similar to those I experienced the first night I was to observe the

men b’havruta : “Do I know what I am doing? Will my students really share their

experiences of learning with me? Will I recognize what is significant and should be

attended to in my classroom? Am I ready to be here?” Though the night before each

semester’s first day of school my plans are written and I know the material I will teach,

nervousness takes over and sleep will not come. In some way I understand my feelings of

trepidation to be indicative of how much I care about the work I am doing. I care about

93 my students, and their school experience is important to me; I care about Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen, and their experience learning together b’havruta is important to me.

The rationalization that my investment in the work I was about to conduct was the reason for my feelings of uneasiness, did not bring me comfort on the first evening on which I sat in the parking lot of Etz Chaim; instead, I felt like an interloper. From the safety of my car, I could see the men of the Etz Chaim community davening maariv , reciting the required evening prayers, through the windows of the upper floor of the synagogue. Though there was no reason for me not to have gone into the shul before the men had completed their prayers, I was intimidated to do so. I felt like an outsider whose research was the only justification for her presence at Etz Chaim, so from the parking lot,

I watched the men’s heads swaying back and forth until they completed their recitation, and when I decided to make my way inside the shul , it was more out of a desire to honor the commitment I had made to the two participants than out of confidence about my first experience collecting data.

Over the course of the time I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning together, I not only became more comfortable at Etz Chaim, but I became a member of

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta , and my initial feelings of trepidation were replaced with feelings of equanimity. For six weeks I traveled to Etz Chaim Synagogue to observe

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen who, in their own words, “try to study four days a week” b’havruta and who have done so for over eleven years. When I asked about how they came to learn together in the triangulating interview I held at the end of my ten observations of the men, Mr. Rosen referred to their partnering as “fate.” As Mr. Rosen shared, following the death of his mother, Rabbi Stein approached Mr. Rosen and asked a

94 simple question, “Well, are you ready to change your life?” Initially Mr. Rosen turned down the Rabbi’s invitation. It was not until several months later, when Mr. Rosen decided he was ready, that he approached Rabbi Stein about revisiting the idea of learning together. The Rabbi agreed to the partnership and asked which day of the week

Mr. Rosen would like to meet. When Mr. Rosen answered, “I’d like every day,” the

Rabbi answered, “Okay, we’ll try you out.” That was over eleven years ago. Though he was exceptionally open regarding most topics we discussed during our time together, Mr.

Rosen chose not to explain why he suddenly felt ready to learn with Rabbi Stein seven months after his mother’s death. Likewise, Rabbi Stein chose not to explain his desire to learn with Mr. Rosen or why he was willing to wait seven months for the opportunity. I could surmise that Rabbi Stein was interested in helping Mr. Rosen recover from the loss of his mother which would be in line with the type of mensch , “a person of integrity,”

Rabbi Stein is. I might also conjecture that Mr. Rosen needed time to re-evaluate his position in the world as no one’s son before he began his studies, but neither of these suppositions was confirmed by Rabbi Stein or Mr. Rosen. The fact that the men chose not to share their reasons did not offend me because I understood their motivations to have been deeply personal.

Despite their silence on the issues relating to the beginnings of their partnership, what was obvious to me was the existence of a chemistry of connection between the two men that may well be best described as Mr. Rosen says, as “fate.” They share a way of knowing that defies articulation—possibly learned from their study with other havrutot or possibly a naturally occurring phenomenon. The type of natural draw the men have toward one another is not a sensation I am unfamiliar with and caused me to reflect on

95 my own experience coming to learn with Tami. Though our havruta formed under very different circumstances, Tami and I refer to our pairing as fated as well. Before we had even formally met, Tami and I felt drawn to each other. In fact, we shared a sense that we had met before and when we could not identify our connections through a game of

“Jewish Geography,” we determined that our intuition was suggesting that we would make great friends. Though we were strangers when we began learning together, the intensity of being in a learning partnership inspired our deep emotional feelings of friendship.

Observing the Havruta

During each of my visits with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, I recorded my observations of their havruta by hand onto a pad of paper in the form of field notes. After

I returned home each evening from observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta sessions, I retyped my field notes into a word processing program and added comments regarding my early interpretations and my subjectivity. After my final observation of the havruta , I went back and annotated all of the memos from the ten sessions in which I had observed the pair learning together. Then, I coded the collection of annotated memos for both emic and etic themes and reduced the data to look for patterns. The process was scientific, but the experience with the havruta was deeply personal.

Over the six weeks I spent observing and participating with Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen’s havruta , I was profoundly impacted by our time together. It is very atypical for a woman, and especially for an unmarried non-orthodox woman, to be allowed to observe religious men learning Talmud together. Not only was I doing just that, but at their invitation, I was learning along with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. In this way, I was

96 offered a unique view into the largely sequestered scholarly lives of observant Jewish men. From an academic perspective, I was grateful that they trusted me to observe them in study and that they felt comfortable with me sharing what I learned of their experience learning together. From a personal perspective, I felt connected to the men; being with them as they learned together conjured up memories of learning with my grandfather who had passed away four years before. I miss my grandfather terribly and am ever aware of his physical absence from my learning life. Significantly, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen became very much like my grandfather during the months I observed them b’havruta in the manner in which they taught me and cared for me. My feelings of comfort with the

men and of being at Etz Chaim were not immediate, though. Initially I felt like the world before creation, K#xw whbw wht (tohu vavohu v’choshech ) “unformed and void and in

darkness,” Genesis 1:2.

The first book of the Torah, Genesis, begins with the word, ty#)rb (B’reishit ),

translated, “In the beginning.” The text then continues to detail G-d’s acts of creation out

of nothingness. The final book of the Torah, Myrbd , Deuteronomy, ends with the

Israelites about to enter the land of Canaan—their reward for entering into a relationship

with G-d. In the metaphoric journey of my research study, I have found parallels between

my own experience investigating the havruta and the five books of the Torah . From a place of virtual nothingness at this study’s beginning, I became immersed in the beauty of

learning b’havruta , and at this study’s culmination, I was rewarded with relationship.

Again, it is for this reason that I have chosen to present my data analysis and

interpretation in sections identified by the books of the Torah : ty#r)b (Bereishit )

Genesis , twm# (Shemot ) Exodus , )rqyw (Vayikra ) Leviticus , rbdmb (Bamidbar )

Numbers , and Myrbd (Devarim ) Deuteronomy . ty#)rb (Bereishit ) Genesis

Literally, bereishit means, “In the beginning.” In the beginning, there was the text

and then the interpretation.

I was exceptionally nervous walking into the Etz Chaim shul . I had only been in

the building once, and I was not sure where to find the men I would be observing.

Looking back on that first day I laugh a little now at how anxious I was then: timidly

turning the knob of what I now know to be the back door of the shul and mistakenly

walking into the kitchen—the least likely place the men would be. On that first evening,

in the kitchen, I met a woman preparing for the meal celebrating a tyrb (bris ), “ritual

circumcision,” for the following day. In Judaism, this ceremony is held on a son’s eighth

day of life and harkens back to the covenant made between G-d and Abraham that

signaled Abraham’s acceptance of Judaism as his religion. In much the way that Ruth

chose Naomi later in the history of the Jewish people leading to an indestructible bond between the two women, this early act of Abraham choosing connection with G-d

initiated the intense relationship that Jews have with the one deity and emphasizes the

importance, from Judaism’s beginnings, of partnership (Jospe, 1994)—of havruta .

Upon my unintentional entrance into the shul’s kitchen, I asked the woman there if she would mind checking for Rabbi Stein in the beit midrash , “house of study.” She obliged me by peeking through a brown set of doors that were partially cracked open and reported back to me that Rabbi Stein was indeed within the study room. After thanking her, I walked into the beit midrash to meet the Rabbi. The room was filled with religious

98 men sitting at and standing over long brown tables piled with religious books. There was much noise in the room as the men discussed the various texts in their individual havrutot . Certainly there was no other woman in the beit midrash , and most likely there

was not another woman anywhere in the building besides the woman in the kitchen and

myself. Upon walking into the study room, I felt the difference of my gender, and though

I am not sure if I was, I felt as though I was being stared at. I flushed in response to

feeling extremely out of place and was grateful I had dressed extremely modestly for two

reasons: one, I would not offend the orthodox men and two, my reddening chest and neck

would not be visible. Whether or not the men were looking at me as I walked into the

room, my own self-consciousness convinced me that I was indeed their focal point. My

insecurity was largely responsible for my feelings of discomfort, and though I felt so

insecure on that first meeting, within a short amount of time, the men made me feel quite

at home at Etz Chaim Synagogue and with them. The change I experienced from

unsettled to at ease called to mind the best transformations we can help students,

uncomfortable in our classrooms, experience. There are a myriad of possible reasons for

a students’ feelings of discomfort in schools: their own parents’ painful academic

experiences; fears about the unknown; the standard marginalization of people who share

the students’ backgrounds, among so many others. It is our job as educators, though, to provide environments that dissipate our students’ distress. Our students may enter our

schools with anxiety, but if we work to build positive relationships within our

classrooms, our students can experience comfort and connection. Employing the model

of the havruta is one way to establish positive and meaningful relationships in classrooms

that can aid in making a welcoming school environment.

Walking into the beit midrash , Rabbi Stein saw me immediately. He waved me

over to his study table and then quickly walked me out of the room into the tsnk tyb

(beit kinesset ), “house of worship,” through the women’s door and into the women’s

section. (Traditionally Jewish men and women do not sit together in religious services to

ensure that focus is maintained on the act of prayer.) Though I was curious, I did not ask

Rabbi Stein why we would be learning in the tangential room to which he led me, but I

was under the impression that either he did not want to make me feel more uncomfortable

than my flushed face signaled I already was, or he felt I might be a distraction in the other

room with all the other men learning in havrutot. Because I had worshipped at Etz Chaim

once before and had sat in the women’s section during that one service, in reflection it

seems as though Rabbi Stein intentionally relocated me from a space of discomfort to one

of comfort and familiarity. Ironically, at the same time that I had been apprehensive about being in the beit midrash , I was a bit disappointed not to be in the room with the other

study pairs because I had read in Helmreich’s (1986) The World of the Yeshiva about the energetic—even chaotic—environment of a room filled with Talmud study and wanted to

experience that. Without questioning, though, as I had done my whole life with my

grandfather, I deferred to the Rabbi’s judgment. Some weeks later when we relocated

from the women’s section and I began observing the men as they learned in the beit

midrash with the other havrutot , I wondered if the real reason Rabbi Stein had decided

not to have us meet in the beit midrash among the other men during those first meetings

was because he was not ready to let me in to that world or he knew I was not ready to be

let in to it. I was reminded of Mr. Rosen’s story of how his havruta with Rabbi Stein began and my unconfirmed presumption that Mr. Rosen was not ready to learn with

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Rabbi Stein when the Rabbi invited him to do so. If Rabbi Stein assumed that I was not

ready to be let in to the world of havruta study in the beit midrash , he was correct.

Though I was disappointed the first day I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning

together when Rabbi Stein led me to a room separate from the other men of the

community learning with their partners, I know that initially I was too self-conscious of being an outsider—a woman and not of the community—to have observed from the beit

midrash . Additionally, I have come to see Rabbi Stein’s deliberate choice to have us meet

in a space separate from that of the men of the community as an act of protection. He

operated as my grandfather might have, and as a teacher ought to, sheltering with care.

On that first night, after relocating to the women’s side of the beit kinesset , we

settled into our chairs, and because Mr. Rosen had not arrived at Etz Chaim yet, Rabbi

Stein took me through the page of Gemara that he and his havruta were going to study,

Talmud tractate Sanhedrin . A page of Talmud appears as no other written text I have ever

seen before. From a distance too great to allow the viewer to discern that the page is

comprised of words, a page of Talmud appears as a multi-framed image. On closer

examination, there is writing in the middle of the page, cradled by writing around its perimeter which in turn has its own border (see Appendix B). In the center of the page in

an ornately-drawn box is the title of the tractate; below this title, is the main body of the page comprised of the Mishnah and the Gemara which is written in a combination of

Hebrew and Aramaic. These sections comprise the “primary record of the teaching,

decisions and disputes” (Parker, 2010) of the judicial scholars and the Rabbinic

commentary on these teachings, decisions, and disputes. The formal statements of the

Mishnah and the Gemara are in Hebrew, and as Aramaic was the spoken vernacular of

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Babylonian Jews, the explanations of the formal statements are written in that less-formal

language. Identifying the beginning of the passage of Gemara is the abbreviation mg

(GM ). Framing the right side of the page of the Mishnah and the Gemara is Rashi’s commentary, named for the great medieval rabbinic scholar and presented in a unique form of script. It should be noted that Rashi did not actually write in this form of script but that the script was created in to distinguish the commentary surrounding the central text from the standard script of the Mishnah and the Gemara . The Rashi commentary addresses the text of the Mishnah and the Gemara and elucidates the whole of it—it is

Rashi’s dialogue with the primary text. On the left side of the Gemara is the Tosafot translated as “additions” (Parker, 2010) which are additional commentaries—to

Rashi’s—on the Mishnah and the Gemara that are also written in Rashi script. Again,

here the commentators engage in dialogue with the primary text and with Rashi. On the

far right side of the page are small notations called Mesoret HaShas that cross-reference other places in the Talmud where similar ideas appear, and to the left of the Tosafot , are the Ein Mishpat , Ner Mitzvah , notations which cross-reference repeated codes in the

Talmud relevant to the page. Finally, on the lower-half of the left side of the page are

“Glosses” and other commentaries that expound on the Mishnah and the Gemara . These

Glosses and other commentaries continue the conversation on the page by responding to

all that all of the other voices represented. In this way, even the physical pages of Talmud

are operating as a havruta : interpreting, discussing, and debating with one another.

It was on my first night at Etz Chaim when Rabbi Stein pointed out to me the physical presentation of the text of Talmud on the page, and he introduced me to the

language of Mishnah and Gemara study. He taught me: Pd (Daf ) means “page”; dwm(

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(Amod ) means “platform” and indicates the side of a page; twpswt (Tosefot) is

additional commentary; Sugiya—an Aramaic word which means “to walk”—is the

middle of a topic of logic or the middle of an argument. These short lessons introduced

me to the vocabulary of Talmudic study, and in introducing me to these terms, Rabbi

Stein was creating between us a shared language.

To my surprise and delight, Rabbi Stein continued to draw me in and to establish

our new relationship when next he showed me on the page of Talmud the Rashi

commentary by the great medieval Rabbi considered to be the most significant

commentator on the Torah and whose commentary is written in a unique script from the

rest of the Talmud . When I asked about the physically different lettering, he explained

that it is called “Rashi script” and that young boys are taught to read it along with their

instruction on reading Hebrew and Aramaic because there are so many confusing aspects

of Talmud study that deciphering the writing should not be one of them. As Rabbi Stein

instructed me on the ways of reading the Talmud from its page, I was grateful for the way

in which he welcomed my curiosity and answered each of my questions as if he was

ushering me into the world of his havruta study. Our experience in those moments

together reminded me of the manner in which my grandfather embraced my curiosity and patiently explained concepts that were new to me. In the women’s section of Etz Chaim shul , I felt the warmth I had experienced in my grandfather’s study as a child.

At no point in our time together did I feel as though Rabbi Stein was only providing me with partial explanations because of my gender or my orthodoxy. At the time I reasoned that most likely he was sharing with me because he had agreed to participate in my study and felt an obligation to do so. Initially I saw myself as an

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outsider, a researcher studying participants from a distanced position; that changed over

the course of the time I spent with the havruta , though. During the first session I

observed, I sat quietly watching and listening to Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen follow the

text with their fingers, read the text aloud, and discuss the text’s meaning in context and

in application to their lives. In the second observation session, I remained quiet until Mr.

Rosen asked me at the end of his learning with Rabbi Stein if I recognized a verse of poetry he recited out loud from memory. I answered, “It sounds like Bob Dylan to me,”

to which Mr. Rosen said, “You see, we’ve got a philosophers’ club here, and you’re in ,

kid!” At that moment, my position as observer shifted to that of participant. I know the

reason I suddenly became accepted by Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen was not simply because I had an intuition about the poet of the line Mr. Rosen recited; instead, my

answer seemed to convey that I was able to join them in their study. In other words, I had

signaled to the men that we shared a common language of experience, and that important

communication offered me an invitation into their havruta .

From that point on, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen regularly asked me questions

about the topics under study in the text they were learning. Interestingly, I did not realize

the men’s initial intentions. In retrospect, though, I have come to understand that these

early efforts were moves on the part of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen to include me in their

learning community, and though I appreciated them at the time because they made me

immediately comfortable, I most appreciate them in reflection for their long-term

fostering of a sense of connection between the three of us.

Sometime after Rabbi Stein began his overview of the format of the pages of

Talmud , Mr. Rosen peered through the glass from the outside of the room Rabbi Stein

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and I were sitting in and made a motion asking us if we wanted something to drink. I

declined, but Rabbi Stein indicated that he would drink something, and Mr. Rosen

returned to our makeshift study room shortly thereafter with two coffees. As with Rabbi

Stein’s move to include me in the community that he and Mr. Rosen had established

through their shared learning of text, I soon understood that sharing a drink with the men

was an act of connection, and I should have accepted Mr. Rosen’s offer. In fact, thinking back to my grandfather, I cannot recall a time when he did not have a cup of coffee

sitting on the table next to the texts he was learning. Of course the nature of the drink is

irrelevant, but I believe its presence is symbolic of sustenance not unlike that of the text

itself that nourishes and creates community through the sharing of physical, intellectual,

and spiritual experiences. Though my grandfather was an extremely generous man, we

were taught by our mother to show deference to him; therefore, in my home growing up,

we served my grandfather but were not served by him. In many ways over the course of

the time we spent together, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen came to represent my grandfather.

Our time in study reminded me of growing up learning alongside my grandfather, and

after thinking carefully about what I felt so compelled to deny that Mr. Rosen serve me, I

realized that I was uncomfortable being served by him as I would have been

uncomfortable being served by my grandfather. Thinking about the application to the

school environment, I resisted Mr. Rosen taking care of me as my students often resist

my moves to take care of them.

In reflection, there may also have been another reason for my denial of Mr.

Rosen’s offer to be served by him. Not allowing another to do for us is often a sign of maintaining control and distance; it was as if in some ways I was defending my outsider’s

105 position. In terms of this latter perspective, it seems I had forgotten that spaces of

learning are inherently spaces of care, and without knowing I had done so, in denying Mr.

Rosen’s offer of a drink that first night of my observations, I was distancing myself from

the men’s shared experience and possibly was communicating my unwillingness to share

in their learning or to drink from the text as they were doing.

In annotating my field notes after that first meeting with the men, I was struck by

the moment in which I denied Mr. Rosen the opportunity to care for me as a part of his

and Rabbi Stein’s community. It brought to mind my grandfather’s warning to me as a

child that a person who turns down opportunities for connection eventually is no longer

offered them. I wanted to feel a connection to the men as I had to my first havruta , my

grandfather, so when I was asked if I wanted something to drink in subsequent meetings,

I imagined I was being invited to participate in Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s learning

community in the way that my grandfather had invited me to participate in our havruta ,

with an act of care. From that time forward I always obliged the offer, and eventually Mr.

Rosen stopped asking and automatically brought Rabbi Stein and me something to drink

when we sat down to learn together. This small act signaled our sense of belonging to the

group and the roles we had established in our small community.

Interestingly, half-way through our observation sessions together, Mr. Rosen

resisted being served by me. On that night, I arrived earlier than the men and decided to

surprise them by preparing their ritual cups of coffee. When Rabbi Stein walked into the

study room, I brought over two cups of coffee and set them down on the table, one in

front of the Rabbi and one at the place where Mr. Rosen typically sits. Shortly thereafter

Mr. Rosen walked into the room, approached our table, and sat down. Then he looked at

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the cup of coffee in front of him, picked it up, walked to the open back door of the room,

and threw out its liquid contents. Gesturing toward me, Rabbi Stein said to Mr. Rosen,

“She made it for you.” Mr. Rosen remained silent. Then the Rabbi turned to me and said,

“He’s picky.” He continued by addressing Mr. Rosen, “Did you think that she might want

it?” Mr. Rosen ignored Rabbi Stein and flipped in his book to the place where the two

men would begin learning, and Rabbi Stein gave me a knowing look. Though I was

initially shocked at Mr. Rosen’s actions, I came to understand that there are established

roles in each group, and Mr. Rosen’s role included preparing the table for study.

Unknowingly, I had usurped his role.

The first night I spent observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta , upon

meeting Mr. Rosen, I was surprised when he offered me his hand to shake. Traditionally,

Orthodox men do not touch women who are unrelated to them, so Mr. Rosen’s act of

extending his hand was unique; it emphasized his desire to make me feel welcomed and

communicated his desire for connection. Though I was surprised, I did not hesitate to

shake Mr. Rosen’s hand, and without pause he sat down and opened his text to the page

Rabbi Stein and I had been examining.

That first night, the three of us sat on the women’s side of the beit kinesset at a round table with three large books of Talmud in front of us. Throughout the learning, I

noted the fact that we half-lay on the books in a way cradling them and being cradled by

them—again I was reminded of my grandfather’s own way of cradling the books from

which he would learn and the intimacy of learning b’havruta with him. There was a care in the way the men’s hands touched the text and physically attached themselves to the books. The Talmud Mr. Rosen and I were using included the English translation and

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commentary. Rabbi Stein used an exclusively Hebrew and Aramaic text. Though both

types of books include identical Hebrew and Aramaic text, the fact that Rabbi Stein

studies from an exclusively Hebrew and Aramaic text with all commentary and

explanation in Hebrew and Aramaic and the specialized writing called “Rashi script,”

attests to his yeshiva background. For Mr. Rosen and I who possess secular educations,

the English translation and commentary is mandatory. Nonetheless, we all consider the

texts sacred, and as our body language suggests, we embrace them.

For several days prior to our first meeting together, I had rehearsed how I would begin my data collection of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta . My plan was to

explain to the two men the research study I was undertaking and my interest in observing

them learn together. I anticipated that they would have some questions before getting

started and that we might spend some time discussing the logistics of the research study.

Instead of my imagined scene, though, as soon as Mr. Rosen joined Rabbi Stein and me

at the table, the men began learning where they had ended their studies the previous

night.

In the beginning, there was the text and then the interpretation.

Bereishit describes G-d’s creations of the world, pair by pair: heaven and earth,

light and darkness, day and night, sky and sea, sun and moon, man and woman. G-d says

upon his decision to create a partner for Adam, wdbl Md)h twyh bw+ )l (lo tov

hee’yot ha’adam l’vadoh ), “It is not good that man should be alone,” Genesis 2:18, and

even G-d demonstrates a desire for connection as evidenced by G-d’s partnership with

Abraham. In Genesis , 17:2, G-d says to Abraham, Knybw ynyb ytyrb hnt)w (v’etna

v’riti baynee u’vaynecha ) “And I will make a covenant between Me and thee.” G-d also

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acknowledges the value of dialogue with another. In considering destroying the wicked

cities of Sodom and Gomorrah later in the chapter, Genesis 18:17, G-d asks,

h#( yn) r#) Mhrb)m yn) hskmh (hamachaseh ani m’avraham asher ani oseh )

“Shall I hide from Abraham that which I am doing?” G-d determines to consult with

Abraham, and as G-d shares the constructed plan for destroying the two cities, Abraham becomes G-d’s havruta , challenging his partner’s singular thinking. Abraham questions

his havruta , (#r M( qydc hpst P)h (ha’af tispeh tzadik im rasha ) “Wilt thou

indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” Genesis , 18:23. Abraham’s question

is precisely the type of inquiry a member of a havruta challenges his partner with when

studying text together. It inquires into another’s reasoning. According to Rav Yehuda Bar

Yechezkel, a Talmud scholar of the second century of the Common Era, in folio 3b of tractate Avodah Zarah , God Himself studies the Torah for the first three hours of every

day. Undoubtedly this indicates that learning is interminable. After all, G-d dictated the

Torah to Moses yet studies its text daily. It is not only relevant that G-d regularly studies but that G-d learns through partnered study. Just as the havruta provides for its members

space to debate and discuss the text, Abraham debates with G-d, and this becomes the

model for study. Even G-d can be challenged.

Each time I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning together, I witnessed

the men occupied in this type of stimulating exchange. At the start of the second

evening’s observation Mr. Rosen began by summarizing the qwsp (pasuk ), or “verse,” studied the previous evening from folio 56a of tractate Sanhedrin . He explained that the text discusses the laws regarding blasphemy. Rabbi Stein began reading the Gemara in the style of Nwgn )rmg (Gemara-nigun )—the chanting tune used by yeshiva students

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when reading from the Talmud and what Handelman (2011) describes as a practice that

“rests on the view that language mediates the experience of God, and so words become

forms of power” (p. 5). The text Rabbi Stein chanted presented the law that a blasphemer

is not to be punished unless he blesses the Name of G-d with the Name of G-d. Initially

Rabbi Stein seemed to understand the logic of the law, but Mr. Rosen was confused and

asked how this is possible. Rabbi Stein explained that “bless” as written in the text is a

form of word play; it is actually a euphemism for “curse” and that the ensuing discussion

in the Gemara uses this euphemism as not itself to blaspheme. Rabbi Stein energetically continued to chant in Gemara-nigun , “Based on the pasuk , One’s faith in G-d is actually affirmed by asking G-d to curse G-d.” In an abrupt interruption, Mr. Rosen addressed

Rabbi Stein, asking, “Ever heard a man curse G-d?” To which Rabbi Stein answered,

“No—I hope you haven’t. Have you?” Mr. Rosen responded, “Yes, but it’s a circular argument—if one believes in G-d, how can one curse G-d as if he doesn’t believe in G- d?” Rabbi Stein answered by repeating at a slower pace the translation of the pasuk ,

“One’s faith in G-d is actually affirmed by asking G-d to curse G-d.” Mr. Rosen again seemed perplexed and asked, “How is that possible?” Rabbi Stein attempted to explain the contradiction, but I found the explanation complex and very difficult to follow. This was not the first time I was lost in a line of reasoning. It was clear to me each time I observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning together that they had perfected the craft of rhetorical argumentation. On occasion, though, one or both of the men shared my confusion. In this particular case, Mr. Rosen, too, was tested by the meaning of the pasuk , and he challenged his havruta’s explanation, saying, “I don’t understand the semantics—

I’m confused.” Rabbi Stein acknowledged that the concept was confusing and kept

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repeating under his breath, “A person trying to blaspheme by destroying the name with

the name!” It was obvious that Mr. Rosen’s questions had prompted Rabbi Stein to re-

evaluate his own understanding of the law. In turn, Rabbi Stein appeared frustrated and

chanted his frustration animatedly in gemora-nigun , “That can’t be—you need to have

one name of G-d destroying the other name of G-d…” He returned to the text and re-read

the passage aloud. He followed his reading with a translation of the blasphemer’s actions,

“He wants G-d to do away with G-d.” Mr. Rosen asked, “Is that the same thing as saying,

‘There is no G-d, but I—’” Something Mr. Rosen said seemed to help Rabbi Stein realign

his thinking, and he interrupted, “That’s an atheist!” Mr. Rosen asserted, “So blasphemy

is not atheism.” Rabbi Stein pointed up to the heavens and exclaimed, “Right!” A sense

of resolution was felt at the table as Mr. Rosen summarized his understanding of the pasuk with a contemporary example, “That’s what the NAZIs did to Nietzsche. They suggested that man killed G-d.” Rabbi Stein asked, “They weren’t religious? Did they believe in G-d?” Mr. Rosen answered, “There had to be a religious philosophy.” After a moment of silent reflection, the men continued reading the next passage. This example demonstrates what the Medieval Jewish commentators noted as the advantage of paired- learning when studying complex texts, and they were fond of referring to a verse from

Ecclesiastes to better articulate this advantage,

yn# Ny)w lwpy# dx)h wly)w wrbx-t) Myqy dx)h wlpy M) yk …Myn#h Mybw+

wmyqhl

(tovim ha’shanayim…ki im yipolu ha’echad yakim et chavayro v’eelo ha’echad sheyipol

v’ayn shayni l’hakimo), “Two are better than one…for if they fall, the one will lift up his

fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, and hath not another to lift him up”

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(4:9-10). In this example, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen demonstrated the importance of partnership in study and the care and concern with which they consistently attend to each

other’s “falling.”

Sometimes the exchanges between Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, though respectful, became more heated. On one night of my observations, Rabbi Stein was challenged by a nuance of meaning between two words in the text, translated: “downgrade” and

“demean.” He asked Mr. Rosen his opinion, and after Mr. Rosen shared his understanding of their differences. The men debated the meanings of the two terms, then finally they settled on “downgrade” as a determination of law, and “demean” as a determination of society—a perfect example of how two in study together have the advantage of more precisely understanding meaning in a text. Once the debate over the two terms was settled, the men returned to the tractate and began to argue over the theoretical context of the Gemara’s argument concerning how persons are to be punished

for crimes against people rather than those committed against G-d. Mr. Rosen provocatively asked, “What if a person doesn’t do ‘X’ [said crime]?” Rabbi Stein raised

his voice and demanded that Mr. Rosen, “Hold on!” In his excitement to continue his point, in a challenging tone, Mr. Rosen interrupted Rabbi Stein several times with

counter-arguments. In turn, Mr. Rosen was stopped each time he interrupted by Rabbi

Stein whose pointed finger punctuated the evidence of particular laws Mr. Rosen had

neglected to consider in crafting his rebuttal. Mr. Rosen tried once more to interrupt his

havruta with a technical question, but Rabbi Stein ended the debate where it began,

referencing the difference between “degrade” and “demean” as he yelled, “No! No!

That’s NOT the meaning of the term!” It became obvious in the arguments back and forth

112 between Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen that the two men were getting closer and closer to

discerning a nuance of meaning in the law under study, something that would have been

impossible as lone readers of the text. Without question, examples of heated but

respectful debate between partners in study, like this one, prove that substantive and

sophisticated textual interpretation demands havruta . twm# (Shemot ) Exodus

Literally, shemot means “names,” and the second book of the Torah begins by listing, by their names, the Israelites who traveled from Canaan to Egypt:

w)b wtybw #y) bq(y t) hmyrcm My)bh l)r#y ynb twm# hl)w

(v’ayleh shemot b’nai yisrael ha’bayim mitzrima ayt ya’akov ish uvayto ba’u ), “Now these are the names of the sons of Israel, who came into Egypt with Jacob; every man came with his household.” From the book’s first sentence, the importance of partnership is revealed. Not one name is left off of the list of Jacob’s progeny; Jacob’s line includes

#pn My(b# (shevi’im nafesh ) “seventy men,” Exodus , 1:5, and each brings his family with him to Egypt. History proves that when a people exists as a minority among others, its individual differences are noted more strongly by the majority. Though this identification as different has its negative effects, it also positively serves to unite a community. This was certainly true in the case of the Israelites who lived among, but separate from, the Egyptians for 430 years. In fact, it could be argued that it was the

Israelites’ isolation among others during their exile from the land of Judah that solidified their nationhood and prepared them to become G-d’s people. There is an ethic in Judaism of acknowledging everyone—of taking note of everyone’s name—and in creating connection and relationship. Shemot attests to that. It is this ethic of acknowledging

113 everyone that prompts partnership, and it is this ethic of concern for another that demands havruta .

Returning to the Biblical text, Ruth demonstrated her concern for another when she chose to follow her mother-in-law back to the land of Judah. In a personal example of care, my grandfather demonstrated his concern for others when he opened his home to my family when we were in need. Tami, my study partner, too, demonstrates her concern for me each week when we apply the text under study to our life’s experiences, and without question, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen demonstrate their great concern for each other through their havruta and their concern for me in their invitation for me to join them in study.

In learning together, there is connection.

For Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, the act of learning together is the act of weaving the fabric of their own lives and personalities into the Talmud before them. They read, argue, laugh, question, and share personal anecdotes while they learn, and all of these actions serve to bond them. Most often they demonstrate their desire for connection as they learn b’havruta by asking about each other’s states of being and by using humor.

The first evening I saw this obvious display of concern for another, I was a bit taken aback. In the middle of learning about the punishments for blasphemy in tractate

Sanhedrin , Mr. Rosen abruptly turned to Rabbi Stein and said, “Tough schedule now. It’s a tough time, isn’t it?” I had no idea why Mr. Rosen had chosen that moment to ask such a question, but Rabbi Stein seemed as though it was the most natural question for Mr.

Rosen to have asked at that moment. Their intuition about each other amazed me and highlighted their extraordinary connection. To Mr. Rosen’s question, the Rabbi

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responded by telling a personal story about his father and how the son did not feel he

could go into business with the elder Mr. Stein. The Rabbi said of his father, “He liked to

see a problem and move to the solution” whereas the Rabbi himself admitted to not liking

to follow processes or steps. Then he laughed sarcastically, saying, “Why can’t I get

anything done?” All the while Rabbi Stein spoke, Mr. Rosen’s body language, as he sat

and listened, conveyed great empathy. It was as if Mr. Rosen was suffering Rabbi Stein’s pain. The interaction reminded me of the intense connection between Ruth and Naomi

and the conversation between the pair in which Naomi uses the first person when talking

about her daughter-in-law as if she is speaking of herself. Reminiscent of Naomi with

Ruth, Mr. Rosen’s affect while listening to Rabbi Stein signaled that the former had

embraced his connection with the Rabbi so much so that in that moment they were one.

In learning together, there is connection.

Another very opposite way in which the men of the havruta demonstrate their connection is by laughing together. In fact, there was not a session I spent with the men in which jokes were not told. In analyzing my field notes, I found that the humor used by

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen served four unique purposes: to defuse discomfort, to maintain modesty, to provide respite from the taxing work of challenging textual interpretation, and to create connection. All of these purposes demonstrate the ethical relationship between the two men in that they all aid in preserving dignity. When discussing a portion of a tractate of the Talmud that discusses a sensitive issue, the men most often used humor to mollify the tension. For example, one evening the havruta was studying the laws concerning Mwby (yibum ) or “levirate marriages.” This is a marriage resulting from a situation in which a man dies without having fathered a child, so his

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living brother is “obligated to marry his deceased brother’s widow in order to carry on

the family line” (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 179). The section of text Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen were studying, as much of the Talmud does, argued the hypothetical parallel to

make its point. The parallel offered was an improbable situation involving a three-year-

old girl marrying a nine year old boy, consummating the marriage, but then wanting to

dissolve it—an issue concerning not sexual maturity but legal immaturity. In response to

the possibility that a marriage of this sort could have actually taken place, though the

Talmud makes clear that this is a hypothetical case, Mr. Rosen quipped, “Someone

should have asked a Rabbi with a beard before letting that happen,” and Rabbi Stein

cleverly added, “They should’ve asked a whole lot of Rabbis with beards!” To which the

two men heartily laughed. By laughing, the men, both of whom are fathers of daughters,

avoided confronting the sensitive topic of a three year old girl child’s sexuality. It is

important to note that this use of humor did not diminish the law or the men’s study of it.

Quite to the contrary, the men learned the law and understood its purpose but did not

need to linger over the sensitive topic it brought to the fore for their learning to take place. To be able to continue on with their studies without any ill-ease, the men enjoyed a

needed laugh to clear the air.

On another occasion, the men were discussing the laws of the Sabbath and specifically about not causing another to break those laws. Rabbi Stein told a story from his childhood, attending yeshiva in New York City. He said the adults used to tell the children not to run into the street on Shabbos in case a Jew was driving and would hit him and the child would have caused a Jew to hurt someone on the sacred day. He laughed and said, as if he was a child thinking the logic through, “What Jew drives on Shabbos in

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New York City?” In response, Mr. Rosen began laughing, too. The humor in this

example served to deflect the idea that a Jew injuring another on Shabbos is more serious

than a child being injured by running into the street. Instead of allowing this to be the

focus, Rabbi Stein used humor to focus positively on the great numbers of Jews who keep

the laws of the Sabbath, and the humor reinforced the law under study.

So as not to misunderstand the men’s use of humor as diffusing discomfort, I

asked them about it in the final triangulating interview. I said, “I was going to ask you

about joke-telling…the role of humor…” Mr. Rosen pointed to Rabbi Stein, grinned, and

said, “The master must speak.” Rabbi Stein nodded toward Mr. Rosen and said, “I see

humor in almost everything, even in very serious things, I see humor in it.” He referenced

his time in yeshiva as a young man and the humor employed in that setting.

To demonstrate his ability to joke about anything at any time, Rabbi Stein

continued, “You know, you used to be able to tell jokes about Polish people.” Mr. Rosen

leaned in and asked me, “You’re not Polish, are you?” I answered that I am not, and

Rabbi Stein continued by asking Mr. Rosen, “Do you know where Bear Mountain is?”

Mr. Rosen said he did not, so Rabbi Stein explained that it is in the Catskills. He joked,

“There was a Polack who wanted to go see Bear Mountain, so he started driving in that

direction. He followed the signs almost to the top, but then he got to a sign that read,

‘Bear left,’ so he turned around and went home.” The two men laughed. Then, as if

scolding Rabbi Stein for the audacity of such a tease, Mr. Rosen asked, “Where did you

get that joke?” and Rabbi Stein answered, “ Yeshiva , where do you think?”

As the men continued to answer my interview question about humor, Mr. Rosen provided another instance of how Rabbi Stein employs humor in all types of situations to

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diffuse discomfort. Mr. Rosen said, “I’ll give you an example…One of his [Rabbi

Stein’s] dearest friends passed away…and they’re very close, very close families. And

shortly after the death, [Rabbi Stein] said to the woman, you know, called her the ‘Merry

Widow.’” Mr. Rosen proceeded to chuckle at his recollection of Rabbi Stein’s employ of

the moniker. By his own admission, the reason Rabbi Stein used this name for his

friend’s widow was because he is uncomfortable with sadness and depression, and he

chooses to use humor in an attempt to alleviate the pain attached to sad and depressing

events. Mr. Rosen shared in the interview, “One of the byproducts of a havruta particularly, in a relationship of teacher to student is that you see how humor can be used just as sort of an antidote for life because life is full of suffering, and yet you can find

ways to minimize your own inner disappointment or grief or sorrow.” To this comment,

Rabbi Stein added, “It makes the difficulties of life that much more bearable because you

get some satisfaction out of the humorous side of things.” Thus for the men, humor

relieves their feelings of discomfort with less than pleasant topics.

A second purpose for the men’s humor, when learning b’havruta , is to maintain modesty. In Judaism, modesty is an elevated personality trait and one that reflects the character of Moses who is described as having been d)m wn( (anav m’od ) “very humble,” Numbers , 12:3. Humor, as a tool in this case, deflects attention from the person being held in high regard so as not to make others around him feel lesser. This is another ethical move toward relationship. As example, when I asked Rabbi Stein in our culminating interview together about his education, he explained that he had begun studying Talmud at nine years of age, which is rather young, because his grandfather was

a teacher who believed “his grandson was going to be one of the great minds of the

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twentieth century.” He continued, “I studied when I was very young, and in a few months

I knew more than all those older guys that he had, because they weren’t interested in

studying. They were there because their fathers made them. I didn’t know enough to not

want to.” He said matter-of-factly, “If you went to school, you went to study.” Rabbi

Stein explained that a year later, when he was ten years old, he left home for New York

City where he enrolled in the yeshiva . Risking sounding as if he was immodest, Rabbi

Stein kidded, “The tractate that they were studying in the class when I was ten was the

very same one that I studied when I was nine—so I came in knowing more than

everybody else. And they, they thought that I was an unusual genius!” By Rabbi Stein

suggesting that he was not the brilliant student it is obvious he was, he shows his

modesty. True, the class was studying a tractate Rabbi Stein was familiar with which

allowed him to appear more advanced than his classmates, but the truth is that Rabbi

Stein was an exceptional young person who left home to attend yeshiva at ten years of

age and who was placed in a class with older students because of his intellectual

exceptionality. In an attempt to de-emphasize his abilities, though, Rabbi Stein jokes that

the yeshiva only placed him in an advanced grade because of a misunderstanding, and in both Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s laughter at this comment concerning Rabbi Stein’s

unusual talents for his then young age, his abilities were de-emphasized.

On the final night I observed the men studying in havruta , Mr. Rosen quoted

Plato, and Rabbi Stein said that when he was in yeshiva there was a student named Plato

and all the guys used to joke when confused about a pasuk , “Why don’t we just ask Plato

what is meant by this!” The men laughed at the yeshiva high jinks. Rabbi Stein excused

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the silliness, explaining, “You add Brooklyn, Yeshiva , and Jewish, and it creates such sarcasm! What do you do with all this intellect? You make jokes!”

Another way in which Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen use humor is as a vehicle to provide respite from the intensity of their studies. As example: On one observation the men of the havruta were struggling with a particularly difficult commentary by Rashi, the great medieval Rabbi. As they reached a conclusion about the likely meaning of the text,

Rabbi Stein asked Mr. Rosen if he knew who the first person to learn Chumash , the

Bible, with Rashi was. When Mr. Rosen seemed stumped, Rabbi Stein jokingly answered, “His father!” and the two men laughed. I understood that the humor prompting the laughter served to offer the men a moment’s relief from the intellectual demands of interpreting Talmud , but I wanted to be sure I had not misinterpreted the reason for their joke-telling. As Rabbi Stein told the majority of jokes in the havruta , I began by asking him what role humor played when in the midst of intense Talmudic interpretation, and he confirmed my suspicion that it diffused the tension of the moment. In the final triangulating interview, he offered as explanation, “Life is too serious.” Then Mr. Rosen started to describe the act of learning complex text like the Talmud . He said, “You come in…you can relax a little bit…get into it…[you] start laughing. It makes the medicine go down much easier because this [pointing to book of Talmud ] is the main…this is the point of it…[and] sometimes things are difficult to understand, and humor for whatever reason, as [Rabbi Stein] says, ‘humanizes things.’”

Though not universally so with every havruta , for Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, humor is a necessary part of their learning together. One of the enormous challenges of

Talmud study is that it requires its students to not only be attentive to the text before them

120 but also to acknowledge the whole of the text as they read each smaller section. Thus,

there is quite a burden on readers to identify other places in the text where similar

situations take place and where alternative words for the same concept being described

are employed. In an example of humor as respite, on one evening of observations the men

were discussing the various names for G-d throughout the Talmudic text. Rabbi Stein read one of the words for G-d and identified it as the only name for G-d that is plural; he explained, “It’s a reference to idolatry.” Mr. Rosen joked, “You have the

G-d of this…the G-d of that…of pretzels or computers…” and Rabbi Stein joined in, “Of

Google! Of Microsoft!” What was not lost on the moment is the fact that Mr. Rosen works in the technology industry, and it almost seemed here that Rabbi Stein purposely brought in the “idols” of the technology industry to make the point about not worshipping

even the elements that are significant to our individual secular lives, but he did so with

humor so that the sting of criticism would be lessened.

As the men proceeded with their learning on the topic of the names for G-d, Rabbi

Stein continued by distinguishing the characteristics of G-d when the deity is called by

the plural versus than by the singular. The two men employed the hermeneutic principle

that dictates understanding a concept based on other places in the text where it occurs,

and they discussed where the various names of G-d appear throughout the Talmud . Mr.

Rosen asked about another appearance of the singular name for G-d in the text, “What

about yd# (Shadai )?” Rabbi Stein shook his head and said, “No; it will never say that

after Bereishit [Genesis ].” The two became engaged in an intensely sophisticated

conversation about the various names of G-d and the occasions when each is used. Mr.

Rosen asserted that the plural name for G-d denotes “a static G-d,” and Rabbi Stein

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responded, “It’s as complicated as it could become. That’s why we have Rabbis and

teachers!” To this last comment, Mr. Rosen seemed to assess the tension of the moment

and jokingly responded to alleviate the tension. He teased, “That’s called ‘job security!’”

and the two men laughed. Then Rabbi Stein became serious and said, “Comedy hour’s

over,” and the two men completed their session. Each member of the havruta knew when

to infuse humor and when to maintain a seriousness of purpose. In his last comment,

Rabbi Stein acknowledged the role comedy plays when the men study together and the performance they are often engaged in: each man performs for the other, and while I was

in attendance at their learning sessions, they performed for me, too.

In the final triangulating interview, each of the men summarized their collective

use of humor. Rabbi Stein said, “It’s disarming…humor can be very disarming.” To

which Mr. Rosen responded, “That it can. It also, too, it’s useful. Sometimes when

you’re exploring a concept that you don’t really—you’re not really grasping

yet…sometimes humor can shed light on it.” Rabbi Stein affirmed, “Right, it makes it

human.”

What became overwhelmingly clear to me was that, whether to diffuse

discomfort, to maintain modesty, or to provide respite from the taxing work of

challenging textual interpretation, in laughing together, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen

shared moments of joy that connected them and strengthened their personal relationship.

I found that this intimate bonding became most obvious when the humor of the comment

made was lost on me. In these moments, the men bonded over their insider knowledge

with shared laughter. In an example, on the third night I observed the men b’havruta , they were learning more of the laws of the Talmud concerning blasphemy. Rabbi Stein

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explained that a crime is technically not committed in the area of blasphemy if there were

fewer than two witnesses to the alleged blasphemous event. To that, Mr. Rosen asked,

“Why two?” and Rabbi Stein responded, I don’t know; good question—see the footnote.”

The two men read the footnote aloud together, and Mr. Rosen continued to read the

English commentary aloud. The Rabbi interjected, “Ah! The Gemara asks this question!”

and Mr. Rosen asked, “But what if—” but Rabbi Stein interrupted, quipping, “The

American court system!” to which the two men laughed enthusiastically without

explanation. Once he had caught his breath, Mr. Rosen continued the inexplicable joke,

acting out what he called “a 23 beard jury,” and both men laughed again. I understood

neither of the humorous comments of this moment but noted in my field notes that the

men thoroughly enjoyed themselves, laughing as if they had never heard anything so

funny. Helmreich (1986) speaks to this type of inside joking when he discusses the

humor of yeshiva students. He explains that this type of humor, which is often not

understandable to others, “reveals a certain degree of insularity” (p. 163) and solidifies

the group. There was no question to me that in the moment when Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen shared a laugh that was lost on me, their union experienced solidarity.

Undoubtedly in their moments of shared humor, I found Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s private jokes to reveal the men’s intimate connection.

In laughing together, there is connection.

Whether by asking about each other’s states of being or by using humor, Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen demonstrate a desire for personal connection. They reveal their care

for one another just as my grandfather showed his care for me and the Biblical Ruth

showed hers for Naomi. In the cases of my grandfather and Ruth, the care was somewhat

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of a familial obligation. Our havrutot were comprised of relatives, but in the case of

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta , the men are not related. This distinction is relevant

to the potential application of the study dyad of the havruta in a secular educational

setting where there is no familial obligation between study partners. Of interest is why

these two men are so invested in their relationship. Block (2004) writes, “At the center of

Judaism is the love and study of text—of Torah” (p. 58), and unquestionably this love of

study exists because of the reciprocity members of the havruta enjoy in the educational

exchange and in the practical reward they understand Torah study to offer; in Block’s

words, there is “something [of value] to acquire” (p. 71). What has become obvious is

that Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s investment is in the text and their relationship is

mediated by it and therefore made more valuable. In a secular setting, the inherent value

of a particular text may not automatically be present, but if students are convinced that

the text before them is valuable, their dedication to it and to each other can deepen their

experience of learning.

During my time with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, consistently I witnessed their

intense personal connection and concern for each other. One would certainly imagine that

after eleven years studying together, the men would enjoy a close relationship, but I was

surprised to learn about how the men saw this element of their havruta . At the end of one

of our observation sessions, Rabbi Stein told the story of his father-in-law who had

studied with his havruta for over two decades. When his study partner died, Rabbi Stein’s

father-in-law knew nothing more about the man than his name and his manner of

studying text. I was surprised and shared that I could not imagine spending over 20 years

of time with another human being without creating between us more of a personal

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connection. Rabbi Stein responded, “I’m not like my father-in-law.” This response

encouraged me to ask about the importance of personal connection in the culminating

interview with the men. I wanted to know if they believed members of a havruta have to know each other well to be more successful learning together, and I prefaced my question with a statement about how it seemed as though Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen knew each other quite well. Mr. Rosen responded, “Yes and no. We do know each other well and yet

[Rabbi Stein] is a very private person…very private…[said in a whisper] very private person.” He simulated an exchange between the Rabbi and himself in which Mr. Rosen asked how Rabbi Stein was feeling and Rabbi Stein answered with a nondescript, “Fine.”

Rabbi Stein interjected, “There are things about myself that I wish to keep to myself. I don’t want to share all my feelings.” Mr. Rosen continued, “He just learned that, and that’s…” His voice trailed off, leaving me unable to follow where he was going with his comment; then he started again from a different angle speaking directly to me, “You don’t hug Rabbi Stein, you know. And then you, you don’t ask too many questions and if he says, ‘this,’ then that’s it. You know, you just…, but he can reveal some things in other ways, I’ve seen…; you just have to know…” After a lengthy pause, I rephrased the topic I was interested in understanding, “I wonder about the necessity for you to know each other,” and Mr. Rosen responded that he did not think it was necessary, so I asked what Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen gain from their havruta because they do have a personal

connection, and though they answered that their relationship is not necessary to study,

their “performative act” (Block, 2004, p. 61) of study b’havruta suggests otherwise.

Asked what he gains from working in a havruta with someone whom he is personally connected to, and Mr. Rosen responded, “I understand him better, and I understand his

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intellectual concerns better because I also know him, know his family, know his children,

know what his aspirations for his children are.” He continued, “I know what makes him

‘tick’ more than I would from just an intellectual dialogue. That doesn’t mean that the

intellectual dialogue couldn’t exist or wouldn’t be meaningful, but there is an added

dimension because we do have social interaction.” Rabbi Stein added, “It makes me more

concerned that he gain more from it than I might otherwise be—in other words, I’m probably less selfish about our studying because it’s important for me that he get the most out of it.” What Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen made obvious to me is that two people can study together and learn the material before them, but havruta demands relationship.

)rqyw (Vayikra) Leviticus

Vayikra means “he called,” and the book bearing this title as its name begins with the words, h#m l) )rqyw (vayikra el Moshe ) “And G-d called unto Moses…”

(Leviticus 1:1). Of the 27 chapters of this third book of the Pentateuch, 20 chapters are structured pedagogically with G-d calling to Moses, instructing him on how the Jewish people should ethically behave. The action of Vayikra takes place after the Israelites have escaped Egypt and their servitude in that land. In this book, the Israelites are camped at the foot of Mount Sinai following Moses’ receipt of The Ten Commandments from G-d.

As Moses imparts G-d’s laws to his charges, the text demands that the Jewish people become a community just as the text demands that two people engaged in its study form a partnership through havruta . In the case of the former, G-d has dictated laws to Moses who relays them to the people; in the case of the latter, rules likewise call for connection.

In practice, Jewish hermeneutic rules of interpretation demand havruta . In short summary, then, Vayikra communicates two inter-related themes relevant to this study on

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havruta and applicable to the classroom: the importance of rules and the significance of community.

Throughout my observations of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen b’havruta , both of these themes revealed themselves. Every endeavor undertaken has rules that mandate the manner in which those engaged in the endeavor must operate. Textual study b’havruta is no different. Because the text of the Talmud is extremely sophisticated and a challenge to decipher, there are several strategies for analyzing and interpreting it. These strategies include the great Hillel’s seven means of identifying patterns in the text; Rabbi

Yishmael’s 13 principles for elucidation; and Rabbi Akiva’s modification of Rabbi

Yishmael’s 13 principles that guide students of the text in their interpretation. Having formally studied at yeshiva , Rabbi Stein is well-versed in the strategies that govern

Talumudic interpretation, and throughout the years Mr. Rosen has been studying with

Rabbi Stein, Mr. Rosen has learned many of these same strategies through his partnership and through study on his own.

Though these strategies detail the kinds of arguments presented in the Talmud , they require members of a havruta to astutely recognize where such rhetorical devices are being employed. Students of Talmud ask questions like: “Has a word been used before in a different context that would determine its meaning here?” “Is a general case being applied to a particular one or the opposite?” “Has a similar law been detailed elsewhere and therefore will determine a similar verdict in this case?” The Talmud is very much like a puzzle that offers the exciting challenge to its readers of identifying the nuances of its smallest pieces so as to make sense of the larger picture which presents the lessons being taught. The same might be said of a novel taught in a secular classroom; though the

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strategies employed by Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen are particular to Jewish hermeneutics,

the challenge is the same for literature students: understanding at the interpretive level.

In learning together, there is connection.

Many times over the course of the havruta sessions I spent with them, I observed

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen engaged in the task of discerning a deeper level of meaning in the text before them. On one such occasion, the men were learning from Talmud tractate

Sanhedrin when Mr. Rosen pointed out the words hnym hm# (shema mina ), “Hear from this” in the text. He noted that when there is disagreement in the Talmud , the expression,

“He could not hear from it” is employed. Therefore, he explained, this opposite phrase, shema mina , insinuates a rare instance of the Talmud attempting to conclude an argument it presents. The expression is generally explained as signifying “the conclusion of a

Talmudic dialectic” (Bergman, 1986, p. 107) if it is repeated twice, but if it is stated only once, “no conclusion has yet been reached” (p. 107) on the point of law. In this case the phrase was repeated, thus Mr. Rosen noted, “We don’t see this very often. Gemara provides questions but not conclusions,” and he asked Rabbi Stein about the argument presented, “Why is this now a conclusion?” His tone of voice and body language indicated his bewilderment. Rabbi Stein thought for a moment then explained that there would be a risk in wrongly understanding this particular argument in the Talmud , so to minimize potential misunderstandings, the text writes shema mina twice, “This is making sure you don’t make a wrong but easily mistaken conclusion.” Still perplexed at what he considered not to be a logically concluded argument, Mr. Rosen asked again, “Why is this said like this ‘ shema mina ?’” Rabbi Stein simply reiterated, “The argument is concluded.” Working to more deeply understand the reason why the Talmud chose to

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conclude this particular argument, Mr. Rosen hypothetically asked, “If you removed all

that weren’t conclusions—” Taking in the moment, Mr. Rosen’s body language, and his

tone of voice, Rabbi Stein interrupted the point of tension with a joke, “It would be much

shorter!” The two men burst into laughter, and Mr. Rosen’s anxiety seemed to lessen.

When they caught their breaths, Mr. Rosen returned to the point that troubled him

concerning whether the argument the Talmud insists is “concluded” actually

demonstrates a logically concluded argument. He began his line of questioning again, “If

you removed all that weren’t conclusions, is there internal coherence?” Rabbi Stein

answered, “There is,” indicating that all elements of the argument support the conclusion

that is arrived at in the text. Mr. Rosen’s brow un-furrowed and he sat up taller as he

announced, “Okay, then Tanach (the Hebrew Bible comprised of the Torah , Nevi’im —

Prophets, and Ketuvim —Writings) can teach examples but not law!” This exclamation indicated that he understood that the Talmud’s established opinions on the law under study were consistent and logical but did not add to the legal code. Rabbi Stein nodded, and the two men moved on to the next passage. What transpired here could not have happened with a student in solitary study, as Blumenfeld (2010) explains, when working with a havruta , “each can probe the other’s thinking as they suggest answers to questions and the two together can perhaps probe more deeply into the text” (p. 1). Only with the input of his havruta was Mr. Rosen able to come to a greater depth of understanding concerning the passage under review.

In addition to the men’s own experience and knowledge of the rules of interpretation, the commentary plays a greatly significant role in aiding students in deciphering the lessons of the Talmud . Interestingly, I noted over the course of my time

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with the men that when possible, Rabbi Stein always defers to the commentary of the

medieval commentator, Rashi. This of course is not unusual as the great eleventh century

scholar, Rashi, is the premier commentator, but it is worth noting that Mr. Rosen’s use of

the commentary is quite different from that of his havruta’s . In the time that I observed

the two men learning together, I noted that Mr. Rosen engages with all of the

commentary when he reads Talmud not necessarily looking exclusively for what Rashi

has to offer to the argument. Despite his interest in reviewing the commentaries of the

other scholars, though, Mr. Rosen always acts with sensitivity to Rabbi Stein’s propensity

for Rashi’s commentary. Subsequently, and Mr. Rosen most often defers to the medieval

scholar before looking to other explanations of the text. On one occasion, Rabbi Stein

encouraged review of the commentary to explain a point of law that was baffling the two

men. Mr. Rosen read Rashi’s commentary aloud and said, “That makes more sense to

me,” to which Rabbi Stein beamed, “You’re glad he [Rashi] joined us?” And the two

men laughed.

Though Rabbi Stein seemed to prefer to read Rashi’s commentary when possible, he was quite open-minded when it came to acknowledging contrasting opinions to

Rashi’s own. This openness to debate is imperative in the learning partnership and enables the two men to respectfully disagree. When discussing the word “bless” as a euphemism for “curse,” for example, Mr. Rosen read Rashi’s commentary out loud to which Rabbi Stein responded, “Nobody disagrees with Rashi’s answer, but how he got there…the logic…people argue from.” Rabbi Stein then looked down at the text and referenced another commentary, noting indeed that, “Not everyone agrees.” Sometimes, also, there is no explanation offered by Rashi in the text. As example, in another passage

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in Sanhedrin that discusses the punishments for blasphemy, Rabbi Stein noted, “There’s no Rashi here.” To which Mr. Rosen offered, “There’s Rambam,” and he read the commentary from the twelfth century philosopher. Mr. Rosen also read another medieval

Rabbinic scholar’s, Ramban’s, response to the verse, and he and Rabbi Stein debated the interpretation. Rabbi Stein’s willingness to hear out the commentary Mr. Rosen is interested in studying parallels Mr. Rosen’s sensitivity to his havruta by deferring to

Rashi’s commentary when available. In this way the men show their concern for each

other’s intellectual and personal interests.

In learning together, there is connection.

Often the men would come to the same conclusion about a portion of the text because of the rules that appear and reappear throughout the Talmud. In these cases, it was interesting to see how they applied a previously discussed law to a new situation being described. One such example occurred when the men were reading a debate concerning the Biblical Moses and Aaron and the laws governing punishments for various crimes. Rabbi Stein began by surmising the situation between the two brothers,

“So maybe they…” and he offered some possibilities of ways of understanding the text under study then said, “ Gemara doesn’t say that, though…” Mr. Rosen offered a possible answer for why there is no explanation in the Gemara , and Rabbi Stein reiterated the law regarding punishments. To that, Mr. Rosen and Rabbi Stein, in unison, exclaimed, “There must be a warning!” In the same moment, they applied a previous example in the text to the situation before them as hermeneutical principles of interpretation dictate. The conversation between Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen in moments like this one most resembled that which might be useful in a law school classroom, and it occurred to me

131 that quite possibly legal pedagogy might benefit from the Talmudic approach to textual analysis. Interestingly, Blumenfeld (2010) hypothesizes the same possibility in her article in the Williamette Journal of International Law and Dispute Resolution ; she notes, “this traditional Jewish method of using pairs to closely study a text seems to be especially compatible with legal education because of its focus on process...[and] dispute resolution” (p. 1). Thus the havruta holds potential use value for a variety of educational settings beyond the English classroom in which textual interpretation is a part of the curriculum.

As English teachers often tell literature students in secular settings, there is nothing within the text that is not intentionally there. It is accepted that every word of the

Talmud is intentional; hence, the men acknowledge this in their learning b’havruta. Quite often, in fact, the men would interrogate less obvious devices in the text for what they knew to be intentional and relevant to making meaning. In one example, Rabbi Stein asked about a phrase stated twice in a row in the Gemara , “Why does it say, ‘a man a man’ should do this? Is this a literary expression, or…?” Mr. Rosen reiterated the Jewish hermeneutic assumption, “Nothing is extraneous; everything has meaning, so it’s not repeated for nothing.” Rabbi Stein continued reading, and when he paused, rather than discounting the repetition, he and Mr. Rosen debated the purpose of the repeated phrase.

When they came to a conclusion they deemed to be plausible, they moved on in the text.

In this case, the havruta demonstrated that their purpose was less to determine the “right” interpretation than to come to an interpretation they could defend with their previous experience with the textual product.

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In addition to demonstrating the importance of employing rules of interpretation, the havruta reveals the significant value of community. On the second night I observed the men learning together, their value of community was revealed. I walked into the darkness of the women’s side of the beit kinesset and began searching for the switches that controlled the lights of that room. Not finding them, I resolved to awkwardly sitting in the dark until the men arrived. Suddenly the lights came on from the men’s side of the beit kinesset , and I identified Rabbi Stein’s voice from the other side of the partition. He

was talking with two other men about the state of the shul and its governing board. Their

talk was animated and impassioned as they spoke about their desires to maintain a

closeness in their community. In specific, the men were discussing candidates who had

applied to lead the synagogue upon the retirement of their present Rabbi, and it was a

conversation like no other I had heard concerning a change in leadership. The

conversation communicated a deep respect for the community, its practices, and its

traditions, and without disparaging any of the candidates, the men fairly ranked them

according to the community’s priorities.

This same ethic of concern for members of the community is revealed when

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learn together b’havruta. One evening Rabbi Stein began by

reading from a more straight-forward verse of the Talmud . He commented, “This is not

an exegesis of the same rigor that most pasuks are.” Mr. Rosen continued by explicating

the text, “You must purchase your gifts.” Rabbi Stein said, “Right—there’s some value

exchanged for eating the fruit of someone else’s labor…even if you couldn’t do it

yourself.” The conversation that followed concerned the manner in which community

members are required to treat each other with respect. The passage that followed

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referenced G-d’s destruction of the earth in the flood from which Noah was saved. Mr.

Rosen asked about the change humans experienced in the second earth G-d created. He

asked, “Wasn’t eating animals subsequent?” Rabbi Stein said, “Yes, it was subsequent

after Noah.” Mr. Rosen asked, “Why did they permit eating meat after Noah?” Rabbi

Stein joked, “G-d isn’t a vegetarian!” To which the men laughed. Then Rabbi Stein told a

story that demonstrated both the Jewish ethic of concern for others and Rabbi Stein’s particular interest in others’ feelings. He shared an experience of a vegetarian congregant

who asked another Rabbi in town if the man had to obey the Jewish law of eating meat on

Shabbos , and the Rabbi said the man did. Rabbi Stein explained that the man was displeased with the answer he received, so Rabbi Stein asked the man, “Did the Rabbi ask you why you’re a vegetarian?” and the man responded that the Rabbi did. Rabbi Stein then asked how the man answered the Rabbi, and the man said he told the Rabbi that being a vegetarian was a matter of personal a choice. Rabbi Stein said to the man that he had made a huge mistake in his answer. Rabbi Stein explained to the congregant, “If you are not eating meat because of a choice, then you can’t override G-d’s law for choice.”

However, he continued to explain to the man that if he had said that he was disgusted by meat, then the Rabbi would have told him that one should never do anything that is offensive or that pains him on Shabbos . Rabbi Stein said, “I told the guy, before you go

to [another] Rabbi, come to me in the future. I’ll tell you what to ask and what to say!” At

that, the men and I laughed while acknowledging Rabbi Stein’s concern for others.

Maintaining a sense of community with care and concern undoubtedly is imperative to

secular educational settings. Ladson-Billings (1994), as reported in Muller (2001), notes

that students feel connected to classroom settings in which teachers “with a deep belief in

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the goodness of humanity…genuinely care” about their well-being (p. 253). Further,

Noddings (1988) discusses the importance of conversation in caring classrooms,

explaining that when students are encouraged to engage in authentic dialogue with others

in schools, they understand these environments to be genuine spaces of care. The havruta

is a tool that can not only enhance students’ interpretive skills but can connect students in

the classroom community.

In a Jewish Orthodox community, all life revolves around the shul . Though Jews pray throughout the day when upon rising, when washing hands, before eating, after

eating, and many other times, prayer is formally conducted three times a day in the beit

kinesset . Thus, the men of a community interact with one another multiple times daily,

every day of the week. In the community, the Rabbi is still, as he was traditionally, the primary counselor, arbiter, and religious authority. Though the beloved, scholarly Rabbi

of Etz Chaim was retiring and moving to Israel, the shul’s community was dedicated to

maintaining as seamless a transition as possible. As such, they enlisted the help of several

Rabbis of the community to perform the obligations the retiring Rabbi had fulfilled

during his tenure. Rabbi Stein was one of the Rabbis called upon to come to the aid of his

community, and he prioritized the community’s needs over his own on several occasions

during the men’s study time together. On several occasions during the weeks I spent with

the men, Rabbi Stein’s cell phone would ring in the middle of their havruta learning. One

such time Rabbi Stein pardoned himself, answered his phone, and asked of the caller,

“Can you touch his arm?” Then, after a pause he said, “Just do it on his arm.” Though I

could tell the call was about a question a congregant had about Jewish practice, I was

clueless as to the specific subject Rabbi Stein was discussing. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Rosen

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knew instantly, and when Rabbi Stein ended the call, Mr. Rosen asked about the man in

the hospital about whom he correctly intuited the call referenced. Rabbi Stein answered

that the man had just come out of surgery and that he was faring well. He explained that

the call concerned how the patient’s wife could help her husband wrap Nylypt (teffilin ),

“phylacteries,” for prayer since his surgery prevented her from wrapping the leather bands around her husband’s head. Without question, this example demonstrates Rabbi

Stein’s place in the community as a religious leader and adviser and makes obvious the importance he and the congregants of Etz Chaim believe maintaining community standards of behavior that demonstrate concern are.

Being a member of a community has as much its responsibilities as its privileges.

In Talmud tractate Sanhedrin , the text discusses the manner in which slaves are to be

treated by their masters. On the night the two men were learning this tractate, Rabbi Stein

read from the text the obligation Jews had to their slaves to teach them to become Jews.

He said they had to circumcise the slaves and teach them the laws of the twwcm (mitzvot ),

“commandments.” He explained that they would not be obligated to study Torah or the

abstractions but just the logistics for living. Rabbi Stein appeared troubled by the law and

exclaimed, “Abstractions are the heart of learning Torah !” Though he would never

disparage Jewish law, I sensed dissatisfaction in his interjection as if he thought it

wasteful to only learn part of the beautiful canon of Jewish texts. Reminiscent of this

textual example was a story that Rabbi Stein told about a young woman from Israel who

came to stay with his family because she was receiving a kidney transplant at the

National Institutes of Health in Maryland. The Rabbi asked people from the community

to bring her books in Hebrew and Yiddish since she spoke both, but oddly enough she did

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not open any of them. Finally Rabbi Stein asked the girl why she did not read any of the books while she was recuperating, and she admitted that girls in her Belzer Chassidic

community were not taught to read. Just like the slaves described in the Talmud , they were only taught the logistical laws for daily living and were taught them by oral recitation and memorization. This story peaked my curiosity concerning the men’s views of educating girls and women, so during the culminating interview with Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen, I asked them if they taught Talmud to their own daughters. Rabbi Stein immediately responded, “No.” Mr. Rosen, though, said, “My daughters are not interested in Talmud . In fact that’s probably the last thing on their minds.” Rabbi Stein then said,

“One of my daughters would’ve been interested in Talmud, but they—it wasn’t offered.”

What most surprised me was the fact that though sons are automatically taught Talmud by their fathers and grandfathers before leaving for the yeshiva —just as Rabbi Stein was introduced to Talmud by his grandfather before moving to New York to study. Rabbi

Stein seemed to suggest that he did not see himself having a role in his daughters’ religious textual education. The school his daughters attended did not offer Talmud study, and even though one of his daughter’s would have been interested in such an intellectual pursuit, Rabbi Stein chose not to introduce her to it. Having begun my religious study at my grandfather’s knee, I puzzled over this, and even though Rabbi Stein did not outwardly express that he would not have allowed his daughters to learn Talmud had they wanted to do so, he did suggest that Talmud study for girls is frowned upon. He said,

“My younger, my younger daughter, though, is very very kind of pious. And she wouldn’t— but she wouldn’t study Talmud because you don’t.” To which Mr. Rosen commented on this latter daughter that she has a better mind which saddened me further

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since Talmud study requires a sharp and astute mind. Of all the visits I made to Etz

Chaim to observe Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, this was the only one that left me with a feeling of disappointment. Each time I observed the men learning b’havruta I felt less like an observer and more like a participant. In fact, it was almost as if the men were inviting me to join in their learning with each subsequent session, and my gender seemed to play no role in this change in status. Though the beit midrash was only filled with men

learning, I personally know religious women who study sacred texts, and I wondered

about their place in Jewish learning as well as my own in the Jewish community outside

of this research study and the isolated experience of learning with Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen.

During another observation session, the havruta was studying the laws of idol

worship. Rabbi Stein explained that there is a difference between accepted manners of

worship and perversions of worship. He said that the priests would become angry if people made up their own ways of worshipping. He commented, “All organized religion

relies on rituals.” Mr. Rosen responded, “Absolutely.” Rabbi Stein added, “If you make a

new one, you’re a heretic.” Mr. Rosen said, “You’re stepping outside.” Then Rabbi Stein

continued reading, and Mr. Rosen said apologetically, “According to this logic,

then…Now don’t be offended by this, Sharon. Based on that reasoning, if a congregation permits women to layn [“read from”] from Torah , is that making up one’s own religion, akin to idol worship?” Rabbi Stein responded, “They’re not ascribing a deity to this practice. Torah is not a veneration—” He stopped himself and asked, “Why did you pick on this one?” suggesting that the question could possibly offend me. To that Mr. Rosen

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answered, “I couldn’t think of another…don’t make trouble now”, and the two men

laughed.

Despite my disappointment in the men’s attitudes toward women and learning, they demonstrated a concern for my feelings and a sensitivity to my notions of gender equality, and what is more, as the men learned together, I learned with them as an equal.

This experience reminded me of students in classrooms who feel subjugated in educational spaces yet wish to yet learn. I also was challenged to think of the tolerance that individuals with differing value systems can show when their beliefs are in conflict.

In reflection, I cannot deny that the religious Orthodox community holds a set of rules that serve to maintain order in the community just as any community, including the community of the school, does. rbdmb (Bamidbar) Numbers

Bamidbar literally means “in the desert,” and this fourth book of the Pentateuch, takes its name from the setting of its action: the desert. The Israelites have been given G- d’s laws and are moving toward a land of their own. The first assignment they are tasked with is a national census. The text is specific in expressing how the census is to be conducted—everyone is to be accounted for; everyone is of value. In my time observing

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta , the dyad revealed its commitment to connection, partnership, and a sense of community through challenging exchange; its use of humor;

and its adherence to hermeneutic guidelines of textual interpretation. Each evening I

spent with the men I felt more comfortable at the shul and in the beit midrash learning

with them. Over time, I felt as though my presence in their havruta mattered—that, just like the Israelites of Bamidbar , I counted.

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In Exodus , 22:20, G-d commands,

Myrcm Cr)b Mtyyh Myrg yk wncxlt )lw hnwt )l rgw

(v’gayr lo toneh v’lo tilchatzenu ki gayrim he’yitem b’aretz mitzrayim ), “And a stranger

shalt thou not wrong, neither shalt thou oppress him; for ye were strangers in the land of

Egypt.” Then later, in Leviticus , 19:18, again G-d insists,

hwhy yn) Kwmk K(rl tbh)w Km( ynb t) r+t )lw Mqt )l

(lo tikom v’lo titor et b’nai amecha v’ahavta lirecha camocha ani adonai ),“Thou shalt

not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt

love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the LORD,” and finally,

Cr)b Mtyyh Myrg yk Kwmk wl tbh)w Mkt) rgh rgh Mkl hyhy Mkm xrz)k

Mkyxl) hwhy yn) Myrcm

(c’ezrach micem yiyeh lachem hagayr hagar etchem v’ahavta lo comecha ci garim hehyitem ba’aretz mitzraim ani adonai elohaychem ), “The stranger that sojourneth with you shall be unto you as the home-born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God,” Leviticus 19:34.

Each charge commands the ethical treatment of others; in all three, G-d directs his people to acknowledge others as valuable, as worth something, as counting.

When I first entered Etz Chaim for my first scheduled observation of Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta , I was full of trepidation. Not only was I lacking confidence as a researcher, but I felt self-conscious about my own religious practice. That first evening I recorded in my field notes that I was “exceptionally nervous walking up to the shul .”

Later, when annotating the notes on my initial reaction I commented, “When I read this, I remember how intimidated I was to come to Etz Chaim and how ‘less-than’ I felt because

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I’m not frum [Orthodox]. I know this stems from my own insecurities and the false belief that I’m being judged. In truth, my feelings about being judged are reflections of how I struggle with knowing that I don’t observe all of the laws that Judaism teaches.” At that moment, I assumed that I did not count at Etz Chaim or with the men just as often our struggling students do not feel as though they count in our schools or with their teachers.

On that first night, I am certain that one reason I turned down Mr. Rosen’s offer of something to drink was because of my insecurity. It was as if I had subconsciously placed an invisible wall between myself and the participants. That same evening before the men dove into the text, Rabbi Stein shared a story about a class he teaches in the evenings after he learns with Mr. Rosen, and the two of them laughed at the secular students in the class who think their opinions trump that of Rashi, the great commentator.

He compared them to ants next to Rashi and said, “But as a teacher, I have to accept them as they are.” In my annotation of Rabbi Stein’s statement I commented, “I still wonder if this was said for my benefit…not the fact that I’m a teacher (in fact, I don’t think they know that I am), but that maybe they didn’t want me to think they were entirely judgmental of the secular students.” Now, though, I interpret Rabbi Stein’s comment differently. With the advantage of hindsight, I see from the very first time I met with the men, they were inviting me into their learning community. I initially focused on the final comment Rabbi Stein made, revealing my feelings of defensiveness, when I think I should have instead focused on the first statement about Rashi. Now I see Rabbi Stein’s comment about Rashi as establishing the rules of engagement. Rule Number One:

Modesty; only a fool thinks he knows more than a scholar.

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As if obeying the commandment of Bamidbar to adhere to G-d’s law of

embracing another, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen embraced me. On one evening when I

observed Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen learning b’havruta , I entered the shul and

immediately walked into the room where we had met the week before. Once again the

room was dark, so I fumbled around to find a light switch. Not finding one, I resolved to

sit and wait for the gentlemen to arrive. After several minutes I felt odd sitting alone in

the dark, so I decided to leave the room for the lighted hallway. Just as I got ready to get

up, Mr. Rosen appeared on the other side of the window facing me and waved. I let him

in the back door of the shul , and as he walked in, he loudly asked, “You’re sitting here in

the dark? Why are you sitting here in the dark?” The metaphor of the moment did not

escape me, and as Mr. Rosen showed me where the light switches are hidden—likely an

intentional move on the part of the shul to prevent the prohibition against igniting fires on

Shabbos —I took note of my position as the world before creation, K#xw whbw wht

(tohu vavohu v’choshech ) “unformed and void and in darkness,” Genesis 1:2, waiting to be enlightened.

Throughout the ten observation sessions, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen consistently made deliberate moves to include me in their learning community, employing the same strategies they used when engaging with each other: establishing relationship; building community; challenging respectfully; laughing together; and demonstrating personal interest. Routinely Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen checked in with me to ensure that I was following the sophisticated text they were studying and that I understood the Hebrew terms they were using. On one occasion in particular, Rabbi Stein started by asking his havruta , “Do you know where we are?” Mr. Rosen answered, “Yeah,” and Rabbi Stein

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asked, “Where precisely?” Mr. Rosen read from the beginning of the text where the

session would begin, “‘How should it be taught…’” Regarding me, Rabbi Stein reminded

Mr. Rosen, “You have to show her.” Mr. Rosen answered, “Okay,” and subsequently

showed me where men were beginning their reading. On another evening, Rabbi Stein

uncharacteristically started to close his book early to which Mr. Rosen asked, “What time

is it?” Instead of answering the question, Rabbi Stein nodded toward me and asked, “Did

you tell her what we’re doing?” In response, Mr. Rosen explained to me that a member of

the community had died and the men were going to help make a minyan (ten men are required to be present for public prayer to take place) at the shiva (bereaved family’s) home.

Interestingly, the men seemed to fulfill two very different but equally caring roles concerning me. Rabbi Stein was my caregiver; Mr. Rosen was my guide. The more time I spent with the men, the more I noticed that they fulfilled the opposite roles for each other:

Rabbi Stein was Mr. Rosen’s guide, and Mr. Rosen was Rabbi Stein’s caregiver. The

roles were not unfamiliar to me; in fact, I see these two roles as responsibilities for the

classroom teacher. Having begun my Jewish education at my grandfather’s side, I was

more than familiar with a havruta who was both a guide and caregiver. I therefore took

very naturally to Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s concern for me and was flattered by it.

In learning together, there is connection.

Frequently the men would check in with me to ensure that I was following along and that I understood the topics under study. In another example of including me in their community and communicating that I count, on another occasion, Mr. Rosen began reading then stopped at the word #wdyx (chidush ) and asked if I knew what it meant.

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Before I could answer, Rabbi Stein came to my defense with humor: “She knows chidush and she knows kiddush !” implying that my knowledge of the first concept, “education” and “innovation,” was as familiar to me as the second concept, “sanctification,” a source of joy. Following this comment the men returned to the text and continued to read and interpret it. A short time later, the conversation shifted away from the text and the two men looked at each other, checking to be sure I was listening. Rabbi Stein read from the text and explained that, as a betrothal to marriage, one must give to another something of value above the value of the smallest amount of currency of a nation. Mr. Rosen said, “It can’t be a piece of string—” Rabbi Stein looked out of the corner of his eye at me and interrupted, “—even if the woman accepts it.” Partnership is highly valued in Judaism, and marriage as a form of sacred partnership is thus of great importance. At this moment with the havruta I experienced Rabbi Stein’s concern for me as an unmarried woman in

need of paternal guidance. The conversation seemed to continue for my benefit with Mr.

Rosen saying, “Every marriage must have issues,” to which Rabbi Stein responded, “No!

You should wake up every morning and say, ‘Thank G-d this marriage has no issues!’”

At that final interjection, the two men looked at me, and I felt myself flush at the

suggestion that they were addressing my own future marriage.

Much like my grandfather would, the men would often challenge me during their

learning sessions b’havruta . One session was dedicated to studying the laws of burial

which led to a fascinating discussion regarding notions of the after-life. Mr. Rosen asked

Rabbi Stein, “Did you know that reincarnation is a tenet of Judaism?” Rabbi Stein raised

his voice, “No it is not!” Then, in that awkward moment, the Rabbi turned to me and

inquired, “Are you reincarnated? Do you feel as if you’ve been here before?” I answered,

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“I don’t think so, but I don’t think I’d know.” The two men just looked at me for a

moment, and in truth I could not interpret their reactions to my response. After about a

minute, Mr. Rosen redirected Rabbi Stein’s attention to the text and said, “Let’s read.” As

was often the case when the men wanted to challenge me, they would not share the laws,

the commentaries, or their opinions until they had heard my impression of the topic under

study. When I seemed to answer in line with Jewish law and its accepted interpretations,

the men rewarded me for my responses; when I answered in a way that puzzled the men,

they overlooked my response, and when I answered in a way that pleasantly surprised

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, they shared their humor with me. Over the course of our six

weeks together, the men asked me about laws regarding Shabbat , idol worship, the after-

life, and sorcery. During the session in which the men were engaged in a discussion on

this final topic, Rabbi Stein turned to me and asked, “Do you know what ‘sorcery’ is?” I

answered, “From a distance,” and Rabbi Stein approvingly said to Mr. Rosen, “She’s

okay,” and they laughed at his response. Some weeks later, the men were discussing G-

d’s omniscience when Mr. Rosen leaned in towards me and asked in a whisper, “Do you

think G-d sees everything that you do?” I answered a resounding, “Yes.” Oddly, Mr.

Rosen did not respond but only said to Rabbi Stein, “Okay, let’s go further.” In a

humorous example, habitually a fly would be in the beit midrash, buzzing around the

table when we met b’havruta . Each time Rabbi Stein would swipe at the fly, Mr. Rosen would become agitated. Finally, Rabbi Stein turned to me and explained, “He won’t kill it because he thinks it’s a congregant who died but still likes to come to daven [pray] and learn with his havruta .” He asked me if I thought that was possible, and I said it sounded like a story by Kafka. Rabbi Stein looked at me and said while pointing to Mr. Rosen,

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“That’s what happens when you have a classics education.” Rabbi Stein goaded Mr.

Rosen, “You ever heard of Kafka?” and Mr. Rosen sarcastically answered, “You mean

Franzie Kafka?” and Rabbi Stein asked as if he did not know the answer, “Was he

Orthodox?” Mr. Rosen said he was not but that there was a Jewish sensibility to his writing. To which Rabbi Stein said, “The problem is that they taught him mysticism at a young age. The whole thing’s nuts. That’s what happens when a man has a classics education.” Mr. Rosen jokingly scolded, “I thought you were supposed to have an open mind.” To which Rabbi Stein quipped, “Wide open mind!” and the two men laughed at the exchange.

To my pleasure, I was not treated delicately or as an outsider by Rabbi Stein and

Mr. Rosen. Much as I was treated by my grandfather in our precious study sessions together, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen did not stand on ceremony regarding me and even articulated their acceptance of me into their havruta . On just our second meeting together, when I correctly identified Bob Dylan as the author of the lines of poetry Mr.

Rosen recited by heart for me, and Mr. Rosen rewarded me with, “You see, we’ve got a philosophers’ club here, and you’re in, kid!” I experienced a feeling of belonging that was more than gratifying. It reminded me as a teacher to work to provide spaces of belonging to my own students who often feel excluded from the learning around them.

Another time the men communicated their approval of my research and my desire to learn with them b’havruta which was quite flattering. On this occasion, Mr. Rosen’s phone rang, and because it was his wife—a sacred union in Judaism—he answered it.

While he was on the phone, Rabbi Stein somehow intuited that it was Mrs. Rosen on the phone. Rabbi Stein asked me if I had met Mr. Rosen’s wife, but I had not. He said, “He

146 really got lucky. She’s a very good person.” Mr. Rosen ended his conversation with his wife, telling her that he was learning and then he hung up the phone. Rabbi Stein said to me with a smirk, “His wife doesn’t know he’s learning with a woman.” Mr. Rosen said,

“She does so, and she thinks it’s cool,” and the men smiled at each other. Though seemingly insignificant, the moment meant much to me because in Mr. Rosen’s response was the acknowledgment of my work to his wife and their collective excitement for it.

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Chapter 5: Interpretations, Conclusions and Recommendations

Myrbd (Devarim) Deuteronomy

One of the first texts I remember learning with my grandfather, b’havruta , was

the #mwx (Chumash ), Torah . In reviewing the data from the observation sessions and

final triangulating interview with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, I began to identify a

familiar pattern that harkened back to my childhood learning. Combing through the data I

started to see the journey I took in this project as taking the shape of the journey of the

Israelites: ty#)rb (Bereishit ) Genesis , twm# (Shemot ) Exodus , )rqyw (Vayikra )

Leviticus , rbdmb (Bamidbar ) Numbers , and Myrbd (Devarim ) Deuteronomy . The first book, ty#)rb , Genesis , begins with the creation of the world. From out of nothingness,

G-d creates the earth, creatures, and human beings. The final book of the Torah, Myrbd ,

Deuteronomy, ends when the Israelites are about to enter the land that was promised to

them by G-d in exchange for becoming G-d’s people. Simply put, the Chumash tells a

story of connection; it exemplifies a relational ethic. In the beginning there is only G-d, but as G-d engages with the Israelites in the dialogue of law-giving and prayer, the result

is relationship. Similarly, when I first entered Etz Chaim Synagogue, I was without

connection. Through the course of my time learning b’havruta with Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen, though, I was rewarded with relationship. Because of the parallel I identified between the experience of the Israelites and my own experiences learning with my

grandfather, Tami, and Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, I have chosen to fashion chapters four

and five after the Five Books of Moses . In chapter four I discuss the data in terms of the

first four books of the Bible: Genesis , Exodus , Leviticus , and Numbers . Here in chapter

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five I discuss Deuteronomy . In these chapters dedicated to interpretation and analysis, I

tell the story of the data through the metaphor of the Torah .

Judaism is Torah . For Jews, without Torah there is nothing: no order, no world, and no life. Defined broadly, Torah is the entire body of Jewish law and teachings, including “two central works of the Jewish people” (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 9):

Torah , or the Five Books of Moses , and the Talmud . The Talmud itself is comprised of

two works: the Mishnah, which contains the Jewish laws, and the Gemara, which

consists of the Rabbis’ commentaries and discussions of the Mishnah . Jewish law dictates

that the men of the religion study religious texts daily; therefore, it is a common practice

for religious Jews—especially men—to dedicate themselves to studying a page of

Talmud per day. To put into perspective the breadth of the Talmud , the combined text is

of such a length that learning the entire opus at the rate of one page per day takes over

seven years to complete (Katz & Schwartz, 1997). Undoubtedly Jewish men demonstrate

great dedication to learning Talmud because it communicates the manner in which G-d expects Jewish people to live. For Jews, Torah is life, yet its text is not completely accessible; it demands interpretation if it is to be understood as a manual for ethical living.

The word Torah literally means “a teaching,” and Torah is a pedagogical tool meant to instruct Jews how to live ethically in the world according to G-d’s laws. G-d’s language throughout the text of the Talmud , though, creates a challenge because of its complexities. One complexity has to do with the Hebrew words, themselves. Within the text of the Talmud , the Hebrew and Aramaic—another written language of the ancient

Israelites found in the writings of the Talmud —are written without vowels. Hence, a

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standard root comprised exclusively of consonants is presented on the page without the

vowels necessary to definitively discern the word. As there are no vowels indicated, a

single word therefore could be understood to mean several different words depending on

the reader’s application of any number of vowel combinations to the primary root. A

second complexity of interpreting the language of the Talmud is that even though there

are no synonyms in Hebrew, some Hebrew and Aramaic words can be held to possess

more than one meaning based on their situated contexts. Thus, even if readers are able to

discern the accurate Hebrew or Aramaic word of the text simply from its root comprised

of consonants, savvy readers are further challenged to understand the appropriate

meaning of the discerned word based on the situation presented in the text. Words in the

Talmud , like students of the text, do not stand in isolation. They exist in relation to each

other and reflect back on meanings implied in earlier contexts. Additionally, there is

much word-play that changes or adds to the meanings of words of the text. For example,

the language of the Torah consists of words that double as first- and final-letter

acronyms; anagrams that hold meaning in all of their letter variations; words that employ

literary tropes; and words that possess meaning based on their numerical value, or gematria (Kolatch, 2006). The word-play that Torah presents, then, is challenging to

untangle without a study partner, sophisticated study, and much experience.

As an example of word-play, in the Talmud there are multiple references to the

unethical behavior of taking a dxw# (shochad ), “a bribe.” In the commentary of Talmud

tractate Sanhedrin on the reason why bribes should not be taken, the scholar Rava notes

that when one takes a bribe, the taker is emotionally affected by his participation in the

exchange, and it is as if the taker and the giver—through their emotional exchange—

150 become aligned like they are one person. Interestingly enough, this is the same way to

understand the connection between members of the havruta . In the havruta’s emotional

exchange of working together to make meaning of the text before them, the members

often become as one unit. My first experience in havruta with my grandfather

exemplifies such a merger. Despite our very different levels of interpretive ability and

experience, in our learning together b’havruta , we shared a singular focus.

Returning to Sanhedrin’s discussion of the act of taking bribes, in Rava’s

commentary, he solidifies his point regarding the way two individuals involved in a bribery exchange align themselves as if they are one person by identifying that the word

for bribe, shochad , is comprised of two words: )wh# (shehu ), “that of him” and dx)

(echad ), “one.” He explains that when translated together, these two words can be

understood to mean, “He is one with you” (Levine, 2000, p. 6). Thus the word explains

the law concerning its practice; in this example, the word shochad clearly reminds the

student of the dangerous outcome associated with taking bribes. The beauty in word-play

of this nature in the Talmud is that in identifying this message in the two parts of a word,

the student is more impacted by the message communicated in the text. Word-play in the

Torah , thus, works to emphasize the lessons the text teaches. Though the Talmud is

written in a language different from that which secular American students would be

reading in literature classrooms, there is room for secular students to work together to

discern meaning from the words on the page between them. By engaging in word

association and by employing mnemonic devices, for example, students can better

understand the vocabulary many texts present. As opposed to offering students simple paraphrases of texts—a strategy popular in many secondary classrooms and which

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devalues literature as an aesthetic form, students should have the opportunity to

interrogate the original text with a partner for elements that arouse curiosity and for

meaning that is personally relevant. What is often assumed students cannot do in the

standard secular classroom, the havruta challenges. When two students work to make

meaning of the text between them, there is no “right” answer. Instead, there is

conversation and debate and an honoring of each student’s contributions to the

interpretive process. Students, thus, are engaged in the ethical act of being in relationship

when they learn b’havruta . In their partnership, students are empowered, and as a result,

there is greater investment in the act of study.

Gematria , or the meaning of the numeric equivalent for Hebrew words, is another

form of word-play in the Talmud , and there are many examples of it throughout the text .

In fact, the word “ Torah, ” itself, is one good example. In Hebrew, the word Torah is comprised of four letters: t (tav ), w (vov ), r (resh ), and h (hay ). As with all letters of the

Hebrew language, each of these letters is assigned a numerical value. The first letter of the word Torah , t (tav ), holds the value of 400. The next letter, w (vov ), possesses a value of six. The third letter, r (resh ), is valued at 200, and the final letter, h (hay ), holds the value of five. Therefore, according to Hebrew gematria , the sum total of the word

“Torah ” equals 611. After assigning value to each of the letters of a Hebrew word, the reader’s next step is to discern the symbolic meaning of the numbered total. In this case, the number 611 is quite significant for Jews in that, out of the total 613 commandments

Jews are obligated to perform, 611 equals the number of commandments that are specifically listed in the Torah itself. Therefore, the numeric value of the word “Torah ”

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represents its most imperative content. This numeric word-play, thus, enables readers to better remember key concepts about the Torah and Talmud .

In their havruta sessions, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen often identified instances of word-play in the text under study. One such time, the men were learning in the Talmud from tractate Sanhedrin , and the section where they began their session started with the word, Pgnh (hanegef). Mr. Rosen started to read the passage aloud but had difficulty reading the line in which the word hanegef is situated because of the alliteration of the

sentence. The men found it of interest that a sentence would be difficult to read and

translated the troubling line. In his translation, Rabbi Stein noted that the word hanegef means “stumbling block.” He surmised that it is especially difficult to pronounce— especially when placed in a sentence with other words with the same consonant sounds— which causes readers to stumble over it in the sentence in which it is written. Further identifying the word-play of the sound device of the sentence, Mr. Rosen read the word slowly several times out loud under his breath then—reminding me tremendously of my grandfather who was always enthralled to find literary devices in the text. Finally, Mr.

Rosen exclaimed, “This is an example of onomatopoeia!” Rabbi Stein agreed with Mr.

Rosen’s estimation and the two men discussed the importance of the line, noting that there would be no reason to employ a difficult-to-read word if the text was not demanding special attention to its meaning.

Listening to Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen debate the importance of a line of Talmud always reminded me of my grandfather’s insistence that language choices in our own communication not be arbitrary. My memory is filled with images of my grandfather laboring over the words of a sermon, dedicating much time and energy to selecting the

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most precise language to convey his meaning. In the breast pocket of his dress shirt, for

days and even weeks before delivering his message, he would carry around the folded

sheets of paper on which he had typed his rough writing. Several times a day he would

take the draft out to edit his work and then fold it back up into its perfect square. Literally

and metaphorically, his drafts remained close to his heart. In our learning time together,

too, my grandfather was insistent that language be given the proper attention it deserved.

No word was overlooked or simply considered a means to a thematic end; each was

intentional and significant. It was not until I embarked on this research study, though, that

I understood the connection between the study of sacred texts, learning in partnership, my

grandfather’s attention to the details of language, and my interest in textual study. The

Jewish belief is that each word of the Torah is deliberate and conveys exactly the

meaning G-d intended. My grandfather treated the text with great respect as do Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen when they learn in havruta . However, it was not until I witnessed

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen engaged in discussion about diction that I identified a

connection between the experience of learning in the havruta and my own experience.

Each word or phrase that the men read is analyzed for the deepest level of

meaning. On another occasion, the men were reading the Talmudic laws addressing

appropriate sexual relations. In the pasuk , or verse, under study they read, #y) #y) (ish

ish ), or “a man a man.” The repeated phrase was curious, thus Rabbi Stein asked Mr.

Rosen, “Why does it say, ‘a man a man’ should do this? Is this a literary expression,

or…?” Mr. Rosen said, “Nothing is extraneous; everything has meaning, so it’s not

repeated for nothing.” The two men continued to debate the possible reasons why the

words “a man” would be repeated one behind the other in the text then consulted with the

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commentary which expounded on the pasuk . The commentary explained that the repetition of the word ish was indeed intentional and extended the law dictating appropriate sexual relations to the actions of heathens. Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen discussed this explanation and rationalized that the first “a man” was intended to address believing Jews and to hold them to a certain standard of sexual behavior and the second

“a man” was intended to address non-believers and to hold them to the same outlined standard as well. In repeating the words “a man,” thus, the Talmud ensures that all people understand they are to live by the laws outlined in the text. Here the word-play serves the purpose of emphasizing the imperative nature of the law presented. This type of analysis need not only be found in the study of religious texts. Undoubtedly such experiences interrogating the text likewise can be had in secular classrooms. In fact, the authorial choices presented in a work of literature beg to be questioned, investigated, and debated, and in a havruta , students would have the benefit of exploring all that the text presents

with another student with whom one is in relationship.

The Rabbis say that even from the moment the Torah was gifted to the Jewish people by G-d through Moses on Mount Sinai, Moses proved the need for the complex

text to be deciphered: t)zh hrwth t) r)b h#m ly)wh (Hoeel Moshe bayayr et

hatorah hazot ). Translated, this verse from Deutoronomy 1:5 reads, “Moses undertook to

expound this Teaching [ Torah ]” to the people of Israel. Although Moses undertook but

did not complete this task of reading and interpreting. Moses begins the interpretive act by speaking aloud his understanding of what G-d shared with him. Therefore, this early

act of interpretation was the first example of hp l(b# hrwt (Torah she-b’al peh ),

literally “oral law,” or Midrash . Since that very first oral interpretation, Jewish leaders of

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each subsequent generation have added to the Midrash ’s collection of commentaries and

interpretations, and more recently they have been preserved in writing. Jewish texts enjoy

a long tradition of discussion and debate; however, this does not dissuade students of

Talmud from continuing to wrestle with the language of the text before them for even

greater understanding of its messages. In contrast to the secular classroom, in the Jewish

classroom there is no self-consciousness associated with interrogating an authoritative

text. The Jewish tradition encourages students in pairs to question what they are reading

for deeper levels of meaning, a move that could benefit secular literature students who

often are intimidated by what they imagine to be the teacher-possessed “right” answer.

From the Jewish perspective, interpretation is a holy act. In the book of Myrbd

(Devarim ) of the Bible, Deuteronomy 9:10, Moses refers to his receipt of the Ten

Commandments from G-d and says to the Israelite people:

Mhyl(w Myhl) (bc)b Mybtk -- Mynb)h txwl yn# -t) yl) hwhy Ntyw

lhqh Mwyb -- #)h Kwtm rhb Mkm( hwhy rbd r#) Myrbdh -lkk

(Vayitayn adonai aylai et-shenay luchot ha’avanim—c’tuvim b’etzba elohim va’alayhem

c’chal-hadvarim asher diber adonai imachem bahar mitoch ha’aysh—ba’yom hakahal ).

Literally, the text translated reads: “And the Lord delivered unto me the two tables of

stone written with the finger of God; and on them was written according to all the words,

which the Lord spoke with you in the mount out of the midst of the fire in the day of the

assembly.” The Rabbis understand this line from Deuteronomy to indicate the existence

of a pedagogical moment between G-d and his pupil, Moses. As Bergman (1986)

explains it, the Rabbis interpret the text to mean that “G-d showed Moses the fine points

of Biblical exegesis” (p. 18) on Mount Sinai. Based on the Rabbinic interpretation, this

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Biblical moment reveals that the act of interpretation in Judaism began thousands of

years ago on Mount Sinai b’havruta between G-d and Moses. With G-d’s participation in

the act of interpretation, without question, then, textual interpretation is a holy endeavor.

Further, because G-d’s words are set before them on the page, when religious Jews sit

down together to study Torah they are participating in as near a form of havruta with G-d

as possible. In practice, they are communing with the divine in that they are engaging in

dialogue with G-d by responding to G-d’s words as they appear in writing. They are

listening by way of reading G-d’s text aloud—a practice standard to study in the havruta ,

and they are involved in a conversation with G-d when they debate, question, and

interpret G-d’s words. Thus, as Block (2004) writes of the synonymy for Jews of study

and prayer, the act of interpretation becomes a sacred one. Though G-d is present in the

exchange between student and text, there is no response G-d offers to a student puzzling

through the messages he reads. This is why the havruta is vital. With another student of

text, there is a dialogue of exchange that enables two students to parse out meaning in the

text between them. Only in two, b’havruta , can the deepest levels of interpretation take place. Such is also the case with the secular student puzzling over an author’s meaning.

With another in study, the student of the literary text engages in dialogue that challenges

and extends his or her thinking. Through relationship, meaning can be made of the text.

As with any sophisticated text, Torah necessarily requires explanation and

articulation, and interpretation is the job of its students who are tasked with working to

make sense of the text under study. Torah demands interpretation; havruta demands

relationship; and, Torah demands interpretation b’havruta . In the study dyad, myopic

thinking, faulty reasoning, misreading, and misinterpreting are diminished simply by

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nature of the fact that one is challenged by his partner to think more critically about the

text before him or her (Danzger, 1989). Evidence exists that the act of reading aloud, a

standard practice in the havruta , “aids in retention of material” (Segal, 2003, p. 7). When students see and hear the information being read, they have a greater chance of remembering it. Easily this practice of the havruta can be incorporated into the secular literature classroom. In fact, in addition to enabling students to retain information more effectively, reading aloud to just one other person can serve to diminish the self- consciousness students experience when reading in front of an entire classroom of peers.

Personally, when I would read aloud the text my grandfather and I would study together,

I remember my simple child’s voice becoming one with the complex words of the text.

Just the act of reading aloud and hearing eloquent language emerging from my own voice strengthened my confidence. In this way, the strategy of reading aloud has implications beyond its use value as a method. It is an ethical act that preserves dignity and promotes a

sense of self while increasing acquisition. There is also an intimacy to reading aloud that bonds two partners in study. The movement of language from the written to the spoken form makes it public; at the same time, reading aloud in a pair limits the text to the more private and intimate space between the two partners. Readers convey emotion when they read aloud drawing emphasis to words and concepts of significance, and that shared display of emotion serves to emotionally connect the two members of the havruta .

Students of the havruta enjoy an emotional space of comfort that enables authentic exchange. In fact, in havruta , students gain understanding through their engagement in argument and debate with their peers. According to the research on the effects of working together in educational settings, disagreement between two students

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involved in a learning situation has the potential to cause an arousal of emotion which

increases the students’ collective participation in and commitment to the task under hand

(Johnson & Johnson, 1999). Thus, as students b’havruta argue about the points being made in the text, they are demonstrating their investment in and devotion to the textual study experience. Typically argument is frowned upon in secular educational settings. It is not uncommon for teachers to feel uncomfortable with the idea of students actively disagreeing with each other. However, if students are taught the art of respectful debate, there is no reason secular literature students cannot benefit from employing such a strategy to positive and productive ends.

Another advantage of the study dyad of the havruta is that students learn by teaching each other. Educational research reveals that the act of teaching requires students first to fully understand the topic under study and second to able to clearly articulate what they understand in order for them to be able to teach someone else

(Whitman, 1988). Therefore, when students teach each other b’havruta , they signal their advanced understanding of the information being studied and their ability to extend their thinking in such a way that students who do not understand the information can begin to comprehend it. In my own havruta with my grandfather, I was encouraged to re-teach my

grandfather what I had learned to ensure my understanding of the concepts we had

studied. This method was effective in solidifying my learning but it also repositioned me

as a knowledgeable member of the havruta , a move that revealed the model’s relational ethic. Not only does the partnership of teaching and learning benefit students in the havruta , but this strategy also develops sensitivity in students because they are challenged to attend to the individual needs of their peers. In this way, the pedagogical

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model of the havruta does not simply serve as a method to be systematically employed in the secular literature classroom to improve students’ reading comprehension and interpretation skills but it serves to connect students and to make classrooms more ethical spaces. Classrooms, thus, have the potential to become communities of care and concern if students are dedicated to the success of all members. The havruta is an ethical practice that teaches students to be as responsible for their own successes as they are for the successes of their partners.

Advantages of the havruta model of learning are that, in partnership, the members of the havruta join together their strengths to make sense of the complex text between them (Katz & Schwartz, 1997); they invest in their shared learning experiences (Brawer,

2002); and, they hone the skills necessary to become more independent and lifelong learners (Segal, 2003). The Talmud announces, “Two students learning together sharpen each other’s minds” ( Shabbat 63a). Only when one is joined with another in study, therefore, can the deepest level of interpretation be achieved. Thus, just as the world was created out of chaos into ordered existence, the unique study dyad engaged in the study of

Torah makes order out of the complexities the text presents.

It is the challenge of making order out of the complexities of the text that fuels my study b’havruta . For over two and a half years, my own havruta , Tami, and I have learned together. Our story of partnership began several summers ago in upstate New

York at a Jewish retreat I was encouraged to attend by a Rabbi whose classes I had been taking for a couple of years prior. Following many of the class sessions I attended, I would stay behind to ask the Rabbi to further explain the concepts he shared in his lectures. On one particular occasion, the Rabbi informed me of the retreat he hosts in the

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Adirondacks each summer in which students spend part of their days in classes and part of their days learning b’havruta. Though, then, the Rabbi was unaware of my interest in writing about the havruta as a pedagogical model with potential use value in the secular classroom, he suggested that I might gain from participation in a retreat in which time is dedicated to exploring texts on topics of personal interest with study partners.

Though I had studied with my grandfather in the style of havruta learning, I was not aware as a child that our way of learning together was a standard model of study. In fact, it was not until I began research on the traditional pedagogical models of the yeshiva that I learned the name for paired study in Jewish education. Studying as a child with my grandfather had a significant impact on my early life, but since that time I had not learned b’havruta with anyone else and did not even know of its contemporary popular practice among the adults of the Jewish community. Certainly, though, I was well aware of the rich textual tradition of Judaism. As the moniker “the people of the book” suggests, Jews hold dear the books of the Torah and acknowledge their centrality in our lives. At the time of my initial exploration of the havruta I had taught high school English for 11 years and college English for four years. In those years I heard more than a few criticisms from administrators and the public concerning literature instruction in public schools, and I heard more than a few complaints from teachers concerning students who remained aloof in literature classrooms. As a member of a religion that holds dear the written word, I often wondered why secular education did not investigate the successful methods of instruction of a textual tradition thousands of years old, like Judaism, and attempt to incorporate the religion’s strategies into its practice. The combination of my knowledge of the richness of the Jewish textual tradition and my curiosity about how it could inform

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literature education was the impetus that led me to begin my investigation into the

teaching practices of the yeshiva .

In my study of the yeshiva and the educational practices particular to it, I learned

about the havruta and recognized in its description my early textual study experiences

with my grandfather. It was this discovery of familiarity that encouraged me to position

the havruta as the subject of study for this research endeavor. Returning to the invitation

to attend the summer retreat in Lake George, New York, when my Rabbi shared that I

would have the opportunity to study any topic of interest with a havruta , I felt I could not pass up the opportunity to experience personally the pedagogical model of my emerging

research.

In a hermeneutic circling of stories, Tami’s and my story is intertwined with that

of my first meeting with Rabbi Stein. It was at the same retreat where Tami and I met that

I also became friends with Rabbi Stein’s daughter who some months later invited me to

her family’s home for the Shabbat when Rabbi Stein volunteered to participate in this

study. At the retreat in upstate New York where I met Tami, each student in attendance

was asked to list the topics she would be interested in studying b’havruta , and based on

our shared interests, Tami and I were paired together for havruta study. For the two

weeks of the retreat, Tami and I learned daily, and when the retreat was over, we enjoyed

our study together so immensely that we determined to continue learning together on a

weekly basis. Despite living in different states, and sometimes being in different

countries, we have continued to learn for two and a half years b’havruta —sometimes by phone and sometimes by video internet—in an attempt to make order from the complex

text of the Kwr( Nxlw# (Shulchan Aruch) , “Code of Jewish Law.” When Tami and I

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learn b’havruta , we benefit from our partnered study in the same ways in which yeshiva

students are described as benefiting from their learning in havruta : enhanced engagement

in study and increased understanding of the text (Segal, 2003; Katz & Schwartz, 1997;

Danzger, 1989). From personal experience I can attest that each of these benefits fuels the

other. I would not dare come physically or emotionally unprepared to my sessions with

Tami because I know she is relying on me to fully invest in our time together, and as a

result of prioritizing our learning time together, we are able to work through complicated passages successfully. Without question, the sense of accomplishment we experience as a

result of our time learning b’havruta is extremely gratifying and motivates us to continue our studies together. A direct parallel can be drawn between the sense of accomplishment

Tami and I experience learning together, which motivates us to continue to do so, and the experiences of students in secular classrooms. Students who complete their assigned work largely do not do so simply because the teacher has asked them to, nor should they.

Further, though we as educators might wish our students to be engaged in the work we assign for learning’s sake, it is more likely that the majority of students who work to meet assigned course requirements do so because of the quantified advantages they subsequently gain. In the American school system, if a student’s goals include higher education, then whether the material is personally meaningful or not may not necessarily be of much consequence. For this type of student, grades may exclusively be of value.

The challenge is in communicating the use value of an education for students unmotivated by scores and percentiles. If there is nothing of value to gain from the school experience, then we as educators have only ourselves to blame for students’ lack of interest in our classrooms. However, if the content of our courses is valuable; the skills

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taught are useful beyond the classroom setting; and, students are engaged in personally

significant connections within the classroom, all students should be expected to take

responsibility for their learning. Many times over the years I have seen students embrace

their time in school after experiencing the smallest of accomplishments. It is a sense that

our time and energy result in something meaningful that is its own reward. In the

havruta , students are responsible for the act of study. As students read together in pairs,

they ask personally relevant questions of the text and of each other. Motivated by the use

value of the text and their natural curiosity, students in the havruta direct their own

learning. For this reason, the havruta is a model that can benefit the secular classroom.

In learning together, Tami and I have fallen into a standard routine that reveals

our investment in each other and in the text under study. Before beginning our learning,

Tami and I typically spend some time catching each other up on the events of our week.

Sometimes these conversations are as short as a couple of minutes, and sometimes we

spend close to an hour reconnecting. Even when both of us are short on time, we never

neglect to ask how the other person is doing and about the events of her week. In

observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen, they too spend time catching up but not at the beginning of their session together like Tami and I do. In their case, Rabbi Stein and Mr.

Rosen typically begin to learn right away, diving into the text, then taking a break from

their learning approximately a third of the way through their session to address personal

matters. For instance on Election Day last year, in the middle of learning about what

makes a kosher witness, Mr. Rosen turned to Rabbi Stein and asked, “Did you vote?”

Without asking why Mr. Rosen suddenly interrupted their learning to ask a personal

question, Rabbi Stein answered that he had voted and added, “I like going on Election

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Day—I like thinking it’s going to count.” Mr. Rosen continued with his questions, “Did

you vote on the ambulance fee?” Rabbi Stein responded, “I think I did.” Seemingly

unrelated, Rabbi Stein continued, “The greatest skill is to be the framer of great

questions! Lawyers are taught to do that. Daniel Webster was the best at that.” Then

Rabbi Stein gave an example of Daniel Webster’s exceptional skill at questioning and promptly returned to the text they were studying prior to Mr. Rosen’s question about

voting.

In our partnership, as with Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s, Tami and I are personally connected to each other and invested in each other’s lives. The time Tami and

I and Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen spend sharing with each other is indicative of the strength of relationship learning in havruta has inspired in us. This sharing and personal

investment also has implications for the secular literature classroom. Many of our

students do not feel as if they have an important place in our schools; sadly, they believe

they matter to no one. Time in school for many students is spent working in isolation to

meet elusive and meaningless standards, and for students whose personal lives can be

characterized as challenging and competitive, the school has an ethical obligation to provide students with a space of care and cooperation in which time spent is both

valuable and valued. The pedagogical model of the havruta encourages students to

connect with each other and to establish learning relationships in which each member

matters to the other and to the success of the pair. Further, the connection established in

the havruta has the capacity to extend to the whole of the school community. When

students feel important and cared about, they demonstrate care and concern for their

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environment. The havruta , then, teaches students the ethic of being in relationship as well as a responsibility for their learning.

My grandfather demonstrated great care and concern for me as his grandchild as well as for me as his havruta . In return, I treated with respect the books my grandfather cherished, and I made efforts to understand them as he did. The simple act of personally connecting with me through textual study led to my lifelong love of written texts, and the tradition my grandfather introduced to me is one I envision myself continuing with my own children. Further, as I employ the havruta in the English classes I presently teach, I also consider the potential implications for my students’ parenting practices. Will my students be inspired to read and study with their own children as a result of their positive experiences in my classroom studying text in partnership? Will their relationships be enhanced as a result? There are communities in which it is not uncommon for children to enter kindergarten without knowing how to read. Many of my students reside in such communities where a commonly held belief is that schools are responsible for the totality of a child’s learning. In introducing the havruta model to my students, and as I see its positive reception, I consider the reading that might take place in homes where otherwise it might not have. The effects of employing the havruta model in the secular classroom may well extend beyond the immediate in its ethical implications.

In my own present havruta , after Tami and I catch each other up on the events of our week, we start our study session picking up where we left off in our text, the

Shulchan Aruch . “Jewish tradition places high value on the oral reading of texts”

(Gartenberg, 2005, para. 7), and as Segal (2003) explains, reading aloud helps students of the text with retention. Therefore, Tami and I begin our learning with an out loud reading

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of the passage under study. Typically we only read one paragraph at a time, working

slowly and carefully through the text. In order to achieve understanding at the peshat

level, or literal level of interpretation, after reading the passage out loud, we work to

translate the text from the Hebrew to the English, being careful not to mistranslate a word

or phrase. One of the great advantages of havruta learning is that the members of the

study dyad, by nature, possess different skills and therefore experience a “joining

together of each other’s strengths” (Katz & Schwartz, 1997, p. 317) when learning

b’havruta . Helmreich (1986) notes, the members of the havruta need not be “equivalent

in ability of knowledge” (p. 111) for the pairing to be effective. In our case, Tami’s

Hebrew knowledge is far greater than mine, so she fulfills the role of translating the more

challenging words and phrases of the paragraph we are studying. After translating the

Hebrew into English, we make sure we understand the translation at its most literal level before moving on to a more sophisticated level of interpretation. Often, at the peshat

level, we engage in our first line of questioning, asking about the implications of the

language of the literal text. Next, we seek clarification on the literal text by attending to

the footnotes on the page. Largely the footnotes serve to elaborate on the ideas of the text

and to reference other places in the Shulchan Aruch where similar concepts have been

discussed before. This is the remez level of interpretation in which we seek out the hints

the text offers that will be important to our work at the metaphoric level of interpretation:

the level of drash. Often in the footnotes we find references to passages which redirect us

to other laws in the Shulchan Aruch . Depending on our understanding thus far of the primary passage under study, we may re-read a passage made reference to in the

footnotes or we may skip the reference and continue with our interpretation. Next we are

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attentive to the way in which language is used in the passage. We ask questions about the

diction choices and relate certain terms to places in other texts where we have experience

with them being employed. For instance, sometimes we will identify words that appear in

the twlpt (tefillot ), or “prayers” and will discuss their usage there; other times we will

reference holidays during which certain expressions are repeated. Once we have reviewed

the commentary and have discussed the manner in which language is used uniquely in the passage, we move to the drash level of interpretation, and we begin to ask questions of

the meaning of the text. Much as Rabbi Gartenberg (2005) describes, we look at the text

“existentially” (para. 6), asking about its meaning, its application to our lives, and the

containing “wisdom that illuminates or insight that [it] clarifies” (para. 6). We philosophize about what the passage is communicating unto itself and as part of a

collection of laws for ethical Jewish living. Finally, we interrogate the text and each

other’s understandings of it. We challenge each other’s ideas about what the import of the passage is and about its use value for us, personally. When we feel we have exhausted the passage, sometimes we ourselves are exhausted and we end our study. Other times, we move on to the next section of text in the Shulchan Aruch and repeat our interpretive steps.

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s havruta approaches textual study differently from the way in which Tami and I approach textual study. To begin, the men are learning a much more complex and sophisticated text. They spend their time working through the tractates of the Talmud which do not simply list laws in Hebrew with helpful footnotes

like the Shulchan Aruch does but which is densely written in Hebrew and Aramaic and

includes much rabbinic commentary. Instead of reading a full passage; translating the

168 passage; rephrasing the passage; reading the footnotes; questioning the text; and applying

the text like Tami and I do, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen more fluidly work their way

through the Talmud . When they first sit down together they briefly review the laws they

were studying the evening before. After they remind themselves where they left off in the

text, Rabbi Stein begins to read the Hebrew and Aramaic and to translate the words of the page into English almost simultaneously. Rarely does Rabbi Stein read more than three

words without translating them into English. As noted, ancient Hebrew and Aramaic pose

quite a few challenges for the reader of Talmud . One additional challenge not discussed is

that there are no punctuation marks throughout the Talmudic text. Therefore, it is up to

the readers to determine where pauses, full stops, and questions appear based on context.

In some way, Rabbi Stein has no choice but to read the text in small sections because

there are no markers to determine where an idea begins and ends. In reading small groups

of words at a time, then, Rabbi Stein has a better understanding of the text as it unfolds

and can determine where to pause to discuss the law under review. As Rabbi Stein reads

out loud from the text, Mr. Rosen follows along in his copy. With care, the two men

follow the words of the text with their index fingers, and here and there Mr. Rosen

sometimes interjects to add a word that was skipped, to correct a word Rabbi Stein

misread, or to ask a question based on his own translation of the text. As opposed to

methodically going through each of the steps of PaRDeS as Tami and I do, Rabbi Stein

and Mr. Rosen seamlessly move back and forth within the hermeneutic method of

interpretation until they are satisfied that they understand the text at its deepest level. For

example, during one observation session, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen were studying the

laws of marriage for Jews and non-Jews. Rabbi Stein read from the text in Hebrew and

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Aramaic then translated it, “One must give something of value above the value of the

smallest amount of currency to another as betrothal to marriage.” To that Mr. Rosen said,

“It can’t be a piece of string—” Rabbi Stein interrupted, “Even if the woman accepts it.”

Then Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen began discussing the difference between American law

and Jewish law in that American law operates on contracts, and Jewish law is based on

acts of exchange value. Rabbi Stein, an attorney by profession, explained the most

striking differences between American and Jewish laws of marriage until Mr. Rosen

interrupted Rabbi Stein’s discussion of the laws concerning marriage with inquiry about

the text that Mr. Rosen had mentioned much earlier in the session. He commented, “You

said you would define, ‘Cuthean.’” To which Rabbi Stein said, “I will,” and the Rabbi

continued with a definition, “They were Syrians who settled in Northern Israel and practiced as Jews but there was always suspicion they hadn’t abandoned their idol

worship. There was an investigation and they were found praying to a bird idol.” Again

the conversation shifted from the text to its application, and Mr. Rosen said, “That

happens today. Some Jews sit side-saddle on a golden calf.” The two men laughed at the

allusion. Mr. Rosen elucidated, “Some Jews worship their money, the accomplishments

of their kids, their name in the community, etc…” and, insinuating that sometimes Jews

worship other mystical traditions, Rabbi Stein joked, “They have an Indian name!” To

which the two men laughed again. Certainly, Tami and I are much less sophisticated

students than Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen. In our havruta , Tami and I fear missing an

important concept in the text and therefore do not stray far from the words before us on

the page. In contrast, Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen demonstrate ease and familiarity with

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the text and embrace it as if truly in dialogue with it. They portray the quintessential

manner in which relationship can be mediated by the text in havruta .

Devarim is translated as “words,” and this final book of the Torah is named for

the words that Moses spoke to the Israelites in their last year of exile before they were

about to enter the Promised Land. In Devarim’s narrative, the people are at the

intersection of the past and the future, and the text imitates this moment in the Jewish people’s history in its purpose among the other four books of the Bible. In other words,

the book itself looks back on the books that came before it as it imagines the next

unwritten chapter in the peoplehood of the Jews. A purpose of the last chapter of the Five

Books of Moses , thus, is to summarize the chapters that came before it just as its name,

“Deuteronomy ,” translated from the Greek as “second statement,” suggests. Another purpose of Devarim is to express hope for the future; the book is both reflective,

summarizing the Israelites’ previous experiences, and hopeful, imagining a promising

future for the Jewish people. In much the same way as Devarim straddles past and future,

this chapter’s purpose is to summarize the four chapters that precede it and to suggest the

study’s implications for future research and practice.

The action of the text of Devarim is narrated by Moses, himself, 37 days before

his death as the people of Israel are about to enter the Promised Land. The chapter begins

with the words, rbdmb Ndryh rb(b l)r#y lk l) h#m rbd r#) Myrbdh hl)

(ayleh ha’devarim asher dibayr moshe el col yisrael b’ayver ha’yarden bamidbar )

“These are the words which Moses spoke to all Israel beyond the Jordan in the

wilderness,” Deuteronomy , 1:1. Though they are on the precipice of entering the land of

milk and honey, the Israelites are still not out of the wilderness; they are at a most pivotal

171 point between a less-than perfect present and a promising future. In the terms of this

research, the state of English education might be said to parallel the Israelites’ station. In

my present post as a college instructor and in my past position as a high school teacher I

easily identify and can admit to our shortcomings in English instruction. We have

unequivocally failed to educate the masses, and we should more emphatically resist

maddeningly continuing to employ strategies that yield the same mediocre results. As a

field, we are situated as the Israelites in Devarim —aware of our present and ever-hopeful

of our future. So the question to be asked is what can be done to improve English

instruction? It behooves us to critically examine rich textual study traditions that

successfully educate their young people and to inquire about the strategies employed

within their educational establishments. Judaism is one such tradition worthy of

examination. The moniker “people of the book” has been assigned to Jews because we

hold dear the books of the Torah and acknowledge their centrality in our lives. A Jewish

life is a life of studying texts; secular education can only benefit from attending to the

textual interpretive strategies of such a rich tradition as the havruta , a strategy that has benefited its practitioners for centuries. Not only can secular education benefit from the

model of textual study but from the relationship ethic it promotes. This project asks two primary research questions: What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What

insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process? In addition to the primary research questions guiding this work, in this project, I

also examined how the havruta operates as an avenue of study, and in this chapter I

surmise how the havruta might be employed in the secular literature classroom.

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Deuteronomy is comprised of five discourses Moses delivered to the Israelites

that instructed them on the laws they are obligated to carry out and the manner in which

they are to do so once they are settled in the Promised Land. This dissertation, too, has

five sections. These sections are intended to express the manner in which I carried out my

research study of one typical case havruta , what I learned from observing its partnership

in study, and its implications for the field of curriculum studies.

In the first discourse of Deuteronomy , Moses reminds the Jewish people of the

divine guidance they received from their Exodus from Egypt to their arrival at the

entrance to the land of Israel. I liken this section to the first chapter of the dissertation in

which I begin by sharing the guidance my grandfather gave me as a child growing up in

his home. Here I share the story of my first havruta , my grandfather, who modeled a love

for and dedication to textual study and who taught me how to interpret texts. More than being just personally relevant, my early experiences with textual study at my

grandfather’s side influenced and continue to influence my pedagogy. The strategies my

grandfather taught me: reading the text against the grain; prioritizing questions above

answers; and active listening from which questions are crafted and from which answers

organically emerge are revealed in the havruta model of textual study and are central to

my teaching. In practice I have experienced the benefits of implementing Jewish manners

of textual study in the secular literature classroom. These strategies, as practiced within

the pedagogical model of the havruta , have the potential to improve literature instruction

not only because of their practical application but because inherent to this model are the

ethical responsibilities to self and to the Other. Study in the havruta demands connection

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with another and responsibility for both one’s own development and the advancement of

the collective.

Textual study conducted in pairs is highly encouraged in Judaism and is the primary textual study model of the yeshiva . In partners, students engage in discussion around texts that reduces the risk of singularly narrow interpretations; minimizes the event of misreading; and establishes a sense of community by way of creating a sense of belonging to a group with a shared canon. Many of our students live lives of competition.

They compete for grades, status, limited resources, and attention. Schools need not be competitive spaces. Instead, schools can offer students environments of connection and relationship. In a pair, there is no competition; each enjoys recognition from the other and together students work to make sense of the text under study. The uniqueness of the havruta rests in the emotional bond between its members; the havruta mediates relationship and encourages connection and has successfully done so for centuries. It is a model, without question, from which secular education can learn.

In chapter one I introduce the multiple narratives that are hermeneutically woven through the whole of this work. Each story is of a pair, a havruta : my grandfather and me; the Biblical Ruth and Naomi; Tami and me; and the participants of this study, Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen. My story with my grandfather introduces my early experiences with textual study in the havruta model and attests to the importance such positive early experiences in a partnership of study can be. It reveals the pinnacle of success for education: lifelong learning.

Ruth and Naomi’s story serves both to demonstrate the lengthy tradition of partnership in the Jewish faith and to reveal my personal connection to text as a result of

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studying it with a havruta . Through dialogue with another, I was able to more deeply

interpret the story of the Book of Ruth , to understand its thematic significance—in this

case, partnership—and to identify personal connections in it. These three moves are

considered successes in English classrooms: interpretation, analysis, and application.

Ruth and Naomi’s narrative, here, portrays both the long tradition of partnership in

Judaism and the manner in which students in partnership engage in more sophisticated

textual interpretation and more personally connect with texts under study.

The narrative of my havruta with Tami demonstrates the intensity of emotional

connection that the havruta model of textual study offers participants of differing skills

and abilities engaged in one task together. It exemplifies the model in practice as it most

nearly could be enacted in schools. Tami and I do not share the same knowledge base and

our backgrounds are infinitely different. We are not unlike two students paired together in

a classroom in that we come to the partnership with one mutual goal: to better understand

the text before us, and as a result of our studying the text together, we enjoy an ethical

relationship of care and concern for another.

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s narrative of partnership illustrates the prototypical

havruta . It is situated in the Jewish tradition and is comprised of participants who are

well-versed in the study of sacred Jewish texts and who have learned in the model of the

havruta for over 11 years together and over decades in various other havrutot . What their

story offers the discussion of the enhancement of English educational practices is insight

into their experience of learning in the havruta . The description of the ethical manner in

which these two men relate to one another as they employ hermeneutical strategies to better interpret sophisticated texts can inform English studies. In their partnership, Rabbi

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Stein and Mr. Rosen reveal the advantages to be enjoyed from havruta study. They include:

Learning by teaching Investment in relationship Joining together of strengths Mutual investment in success Care and concern for another Enhanced connection and sense of belonging Broadened thinking Learning as public and accountable Increased understanding of text Learning to question Understanding by way of argument, debate and challenge Enhanced engagement in study and with sophisticated texts

The Torah scholar is not likely sitting among our secular literature students, but

these listed benefits of havruta study suggest that textual scholars can emerge from

classrooms that encourage study b’havruta .

The Jewish value system is also discussed in chapter one with special emphasis

on study, and the history of learning b’havruta . Judaism prioritizes community and insists

that through education, communities prosper; education sits at the center of creation. This just is not the case with secular education. In contrast to the Torah scholars who are

financially supported by the Jewish community, the fact that there are public school

teachers living below the poverty level attests to a lack of importance in secular society

for education. Education for Jews is also considered a life-long endeavor, invested in and

valued because it serves a useful purpose. If our students do not see the use value in what

we are teaching them, there is no reason for them to invest their energy in learning. The

havruta , as more than a method of textual interpretation, can return value to the

educational experience by holding students accountable for the act of study. The havruta

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demands that students relate to one another in partnership which means that students are

mutually and exclusively responsible for their learning.

Finally, chapter one concludes with a glossary of the most common Hebrew

words employed throughout the dissertation. This chapter mirrors Moses’ first discourse

in that it sets the tone for the work of this study. It explains the historical background of

the havruta and its use value in Judaism as a pedagogical model that enables its students

to better interpret the Talmud . In his first discourse, Moses details the manner in which

the Israelites are to live in the Promised Land they are about to enter, and I suggest using

the havruta in a secular literature classroom to build trust between students; to establish a

sense of community; and to enhance students’ interpretive skills.

The second of Moses’ discourses is didactic in nature, with Moses focusing on the

first of the Ten Commandments :

Kl hyhy )l Mydb( tybm Myrcm Cr)m Kyt)cwh r#) Kyhl) hwhy ykn)

ynp l( Myrx) Myhl)

(anochi adonai elochecha asher hotzayticha m’eretz mitzraim mibayt avadim lo yiyeh

l’cha elohim acharim al panai ), “I am the LORD thy G-d, who brought thee out of the

land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods before Me,”

Exodus , 20:2. Moses then follows this strong reminder with a review of the laws the

Jewish people are to live by and the punishments they will incur should they break the

laws G-d has established. This discourse sheds light on the second chapter of my

dissertation in reflecting the field of hermeneutics with its varied prescriptions for

conducting textual interpretation. The second chapter of this dissertation work establishes

a theoretical context for the research study based on the questions I was interested in

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answering with my research: What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What

insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process? In this chapter, I begin with a discussion of the significance of study in the

Jewish faith and introduce the four levels of Jewish hermeneutic interpretation known as

sdrp (PaRDeS ): +#p (Peshat ), zmr (Remez ), #rd (Drash ), and dws (Sod ). Though

established by Jewish hermeneutics as a manner of parsing out meaning in the Talmud ,

this system of approaching a text from four different interpretive levels that build one

upon the other can easily be put into practice in the secular literature classroom. There

would be no appeal for books like Foster’s (2003) How to read literature like a professor

if students were taught in schools that textual interpretation is not a skill only the people

who grow up to be English teachers naturally possess. How would English be at all

accessible if this were the case? The PaRDeS strategy, when used in the havruta , offers

students of varying ability levels the opportunity to work together to interpret textual products at a pace that supports their intellectual growth. To bridge the gap between the

Jewish and the secular, chapter two next presents the concepts central to the field of philosophical hermeneutics. Here Ricoeur’s (1991) theory of “discourse as text” is of particular interest. Ricoeur acknowledges that Structuralism’s view of language as a

closed system complicates his theory, but the havruta seems to creatively resolve the

conflict between these seemingly contrasting ideas. In study b’havruta , dialogue is

achieved between readers immersed in the text. Discourse is, therefore, a textual product

of learning in havruta . Discussion in this chapter continues with a description of the act

of reading in curriculum studies, an act which embodies the hermeneutic through

engagement in cyclical dialogue involving interpretation and reinterpretation of

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educational textual products in the experience of participants—a description that could

define the act of learning in the havruta . Sumara and Davis (1988) prioritize

“identification and identity” (p. 76), or being attentive to the various discursive systems

from which readers of text come, and Doll (2000) is concerned with reading as an act of

self-development in which students recognize themselves in the texts before them.

Certainly the students within our classrooms represent a myriad of systems to which

Sumara and Davis refer; therefore, our attentiveness to their individual and communal

identities is mandatory. Further, because students who learn b’ havruta bring their

individual curiosities and interests to their learning partnerships, the havruta encourages

students to demonstrate the synonymy of what they know and who they are. Block (2009)

describes the reading experience as one of meaning-making. He is careful to differentiate between the act of deriving meaning from texts and the act of making meaning with texts.

The former is a passive endeavor—one that might be the outgrowth of a teacher-centered

classroom in which only one correct answer is prized. The act of making meaning with

the text requires active participation in its study; as a child, I learned that from my

grandfather’s encouragement of my question of the text between us. The havruta

embodies this form of active reading, encouraging students to prioritize questions over

answers and to engage in the sacred exchange of dialogue around and through texts.

Jardine (2006) further emphasizes the idea of limitless meanings in his discussion of

Derrida’s (1978) notion of play . Curriculum studies values collaboration and shared

discovery through discussion, thus, the motivation behind learning in the havruta aligns

with the dialogic goals of secular education as described by the field of curriculum

studies.

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In the third section of the discourses of Deuteronomy , Moses explains the manner in which the Israelites are legally to uphold the laws described in the preceding section. It is a discourse about process, very much like the methodology chapter that details the process of the dissertation study research. As Moses explains how the laws are to be followed, I explain in chapter three not only how the observation sessions and interview were conducted but the relevance of their data to pedagogy. Chapter three of this dissertation focuses on the methodology employed in the conduct of this research study.

The chapter again presents the central questions directing this study: What is the experience of learning in the havruta ? and What insight can the havruta offer to the field of curriculum studies concerning the interpretive process? Discussion begins with a section on hermeneutics, the epistemological and theoretical perspective that shapes this research.

Hermeneutics informs this research through the fields of Jewish hermeneutics, philosophical hermeneutics, and curriculum studies, and each of these fields offers concepts relevant to a discussion of the havruta . From Jewish hermeneutics the concept of text mediating dialogue is most significant. It is the cornerstone of the havruta and differentiates it from the act of solitary textual interpretation. Philosophical hermeneutics adds to the conversation the concept of readers relating to one another. This concept, paired with that of Jewish hermeneutics defines the havruta . In this model of study, therefore, two students mediate relationship through dialogue with the text before them.

Finally, curriculum studies offers the key concepts of prioritizing sites of learning and the notion that one is what one knows. These concepts elaborate on the enactment of the havruta , focusing on its practice as an authentic act that honors those engaged in it.

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A description of the manner in which I collected data on the havruta I observed

and interviewed and why case study was an appropriate method for a study of this nature

follows in chapter three. It is in this chapter where I narrate the story of how I secured the

two participants of the case study—another hermeneutic circling of stories—and why

they represent a typical case. I also explain my decision to conduct 10 observations and

one interview and in what order I scheduled the data collection sessions.

Moses re-emphasizes the importance of the Jews’ relationship with G-d in the fourth section of the last book of the Five Books of Moses and warns the people not to abandon their faith. Chapter four of this dissertation also speaks to relationship. It investigates the manner in which Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen experience their partnership and the bond between the two men. In the fourth chapter of this dissertation, I review the themes I indentified from the field notes and transcriptions of the observation and interview sessions and interpret and analyze the collected data. I begin by expressing the

Jewish notion of interpretation as a holy act. Connecting to the personal, I discuss my own experience learning b’havruta with Tami and contrast my feelings of comfort in that dyad with my initial feelings of insecurity entering Etz Chaim to begin observing Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen in their partnership.

Throughout the chapter, I use the Pentateuch as a structure to outline the themes I identified as relevant to the experience of learning in the havruta : challenging and debating; demonstrating an ethic of care and concern for another; employing humor; abiding by hermeneutic rules of interpretation; maintaining a dedication to the community; and including me in the learning situation. I attempt to demonstrate each of these themes using particular examples from my observation field notes and the final

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triangulating interview transcript. My goal is to allow Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen’s

voices to be heard and appreciated. Where connections can be made, I relate the themes

of challenging and debating; demonstrating an ethic of care and concern for another;

employing humor; abiding by hermeneutic rules of interpretation; maintaining a

dedication to the community to my experiences b’havruta with my grandfather and with

Tami and to pedagogical practice.

Finally, in the fifth section, Moses gives his blessing to the people of Israel on

their future in the land of Canaan. In chapter five I summarize the whole of this work and

make relevant for the field of curriculum studies that which the participants taught me

about their experience learning together without neglecting the early lessons I learned in

my first havruta with my grandfather. I was blessed to grow up in a house of books

where textual interpretation was a part of everyday life. In many ways I was also given a blessing by Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen through what they shared with me in the weeks I learned with them b’havruta . They offered me insight into the manner of studying texts using hermeneutic principles of textual interpretation, but more than that, they revealed for me the role relationship plays in this model of interpretive practice by including me in their learning community. Observing Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen b’havruta initiated an autobiographical exploration of my first experience studying text with my grandfather and an evaluation of my own pedagogical practices in the English classroom. I have high expectations for my students. Without a doubt I wish them to be successful interpreters of texts, but before I can insist that they invest energy in the work of textual study, I believe strongly that students must feel that they have a legitimate place in the community of learners. Connection can provide that assurance, and connection is at the heart of the

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havruta . More central to this pedagogical model than the strategies of textual study that members of the havruta employ to comprehend and interpret texts is the significance of the ethic of being in relationship that the havruta teaches. The field of curriculum studies as well as my own professional experience testify that students demonstrate a greater investment in their learning when they feel personally and emotionally connected to the learning situation.

By way of the pedagogical model of the havruta , Jewish learning offers the world of secular education a successful model of textual study that is relevant to the present state of public school classrooms and students today. Again, as Block (2004) points out, a failing in the traditional American approach to teaching text is that students are to “derive meaning from a text” (p. 133). Too often students are not connected to the texts under study, and their lack of connection extends to a lack of connection to the classroom community, to their teachers, and to their schools. When students experience meaningful relationships, they are more likely to invest in their educations. Jewish curriculum asserts that meaning “is not in the text, but may be made with the text” (p. 21) through dialogue with another with whom one is in relationship. Of primary importance is the students’ willingness to participate in the making of meaning, to commit to deliberation, and to acquiesce to no one answer. Unlike much discussion in secular educational settings,

“Talmudic discussion does not arrive at a final and definitive decision, so much as explore the alternative positions presented” (Block, 2004, p. 60). Presently in American schools, students passively acquire that which does not possess use value, “I was given a

C+ by Ms. X.”; “I was failed by Mr. Y.” Currently there is little of value to acquire for the unmotivated public school student. Further, schools are often uncaring, humorless

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spaces that demand an objective “correct” answer from their charges. Employing the

study dyad of the havruta in the secular literature classroom can encourage students to work together in partnership to make meaning of the textual products before them. In havruta students are given the freedom to surmise all the possible ways in which the text

may be interpreted without fear of hypothesizing incorrectly. In the havruta , students are

mutually responsible for the success of the pair. There is no hiding behind an avid hand-

raiser or a shouter-out of answers who dominates the classroom environment; each

member of the havruta has a voice, is valuable, and participates in the dialogue. Each

member is important and needed for the pair to be successful.

The havruta encourages these manners of studying text, positioning two students of varying ability levels in close contact. “At the center of Judaism is the love and study of text—of Torah” (Block, p. 58), and unquestionably this love of study exists because of the reciprocity students enjoy in the educational exchange and in the practical reward students understand Torah study to offer; in Block’s (2004) words, there is “something

[of value] to acquire” (p. 71). The havruta offers students an opportunity to repossess the

interpretive act with a peer. Presently in secular educational settings, students ironically

demonstrate both a sense of entitlement and a sense of apathy, two extremes that suggest

on either end students’ lack of responsibility in accepting their positions as students.

Teachers are the only actors, acting where students ought to act; whereas in the beit

midrash , study is a “performative act” (p. 61), an active exchange in havruta with each

member of the study dyad responsible for reading, interpreting, and respectfully

challenging his partner and resultantly enabling both to make greater sense of the text before them.

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During my observations of the two men b’havruta , and in their own words, Rabbi

Stein and Mr. Rosen shared much about their experience learning together. They

understand the text better through their debate and challenge than they do when they passively read its logic on their own. They communicate their genuine care for one

another, and as a result, their learning space is one of emotional safety. When study becomes tense, the subject matter is uncomfortable, or there is a threat of immodesty, the

men employ humor to diffuse, mollify, and ensure humility. The men question freely,

admitting what they do not understand, and share openly without the fear of judgment.

Rabbi Stein and Mr. Rosen shared much about their experience learning together, but more personally significant for me, they invited me to experience their havruta with

them. My personal experience of textual study with the men offered the greatest insight

into the experience of learning in the havruta and that what it can offer the field of

curriculum studies is a pedagogical model that holds all students responsible for their

learning and engages all students in the interpretive act through the ethic of being in

relationship.

Block (1995) describes the study of texts as essential to our existence as human beings, and he insists that a pedagogy of reading “must provide a space for experiment,

for trial, for questions posed in an atmosphere supportive of these queries” (p. 195). The

havruta is such a model, honoring its participants in their ethical relationships as they

authentically engage in the act of textual interpretation.

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Appendix A. Informed Consent Agreement

Informed Consent Agreement Havruta as Modeled Pedagogy

I agree to participate in the research study Havruta as Modeled Pedagogy. I understand the purpose of this study is to discuss my experience learning b’havruta , and I am participating voluntarily. I grant permission for the data from this study to be used in the process of completing an Ed.D. degree, including a dissertation and any other future publications and presentations related to this work. I understand that the researcher will take all reasonable measures to safeguard my confidentiality including not sharing interview transcripts and recordings, and I understand that instead of my name, a pseudonym will be used in all reports when referring to me and my participation in this study.

I understand that participation in this research study will include 1) paired interviews (with my havruta ) and 2) observations of havruta sessions. I understand that interviews will be audio recorded and transcribed, and I agree to participate in both phases of the research. I understand that I may refuse to answer any questions and that I may stop participating in this research study at any time.

______

Participant Signature Date

Researcher Contact Information

Sharon M. Blumenthal (202) 651-1204 [email protected]

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Appendix B. A Page of Talmud from tractate Sukkah

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