Why I Like Teaching the Basics

Artwork: Halimar Gem, by John Avon

Why I Like Teaching the Basics

I teach a wide variety of different limudei kodesh classes, grades 9-12th, honors and non-honors, and everything in between. I am often asked, "How can you possibly enjoy teaching the weaker classes?" or "Don't you get bored teaching the same material over and over again?" 

I was recently rereading "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!" for the umpteenth time when I came across a passage in which Feynman responds to a similar question. Parts of his answer overlap with my own, so let's start there. Note the parts that I've underlined.

I don't believe I can really do without teaching. The reason is, I have to have something so that when I don't have any ideas and I'm not getting anywhere I can say to myself, "At least I'm living; at least I'm doing something; I'm making some contribution"-- it's just psychological.  

When I was at Princeton in the 1940s I could see what happened to those great minds at the Institute for Advanced Study, who had been specially selected for their tremendous brains and were now given this opportunity to sit in this lovely house by the woods there, with no classes to teach, with no obligations whatsoever. These poor bastards could now sit and think clearly all by themselves, OK? So they don't get any ideas for a while: They have every opportunity to do something, and they're not getting any ideas. I believe that in a situation like this a kind of guilt or depression worms inside of you, and you begin to worry about not getting any ideas. And nothing happens. Still no ideas come.  

Nothing happens because there's not enough real activity and challenge: You're not in contact with the experimental guys. You don't have to think how to answer questions from the students. Nothing!  

In any thinking process there are moments when everything is going good and you've got wonderful ideas. Teaching is an interruption, and so it's the greatest pain in the neck in the world. And then there are the longer periods of time when not much is coming to you. You're not getting any ideas, and if you're doing nothing at all, it drives you nuts! You can't even say "I'm teaching my class."  

If you're teaching a class, you can think about the elementary things that you know very well. These things are kind of fun and delightful. It doesn't do any harm to think them over again. Is there a better way to present them? Are there any new problems associated with them? Are there any new thoughts you can make about them? The elementary things are easy to think about; if you can't think of a new thought, no harm done; what you thought about it before is good enough for the class. If you do think of something new, you're rather pleased that you have a new way of looking at it.  

The questions of the students are often the source of new research. They often ask profound questions that I've thought about at times and then given up on, so to speak, for a while. It wouldn't do me any harm to think about them again and see if I can go any further now. The students may not be able to see the thing I want to answer, or the subtleties I want to think about, but they remind me of a problem by asking questions in the neighborhood of that problem. It's not so easy to remind yourself of these things.  

So I find that teaching and the students keep life going, and I would never accept any position in which somebody has invented a happy situation for me where I don't have to teach. Never.

Feynman made three points which resonate with me:

1. Teaching the basics is quite a challenge! I suspect that most of my yeshiva-educated friends don't realize how many premises they take for granted, nor do they appreciate what it takes to teach these premises to students whose Torah knowledge is so severely lacking. I enjoy this challenge, much like solving a puzzle. I have to figure out where the student is coming from, what he or she needs to know, and how - to borrow Adler's words - to help the student to pass from a state of ignorance to a state of knowledge through a deliberate process of aided discovery. This type of teaching activity isn't for everyone, but - as Feynman would say - I personally "get a kick out of it."
   
   (I'll add that part of the challenge is being aware of the high stakes. As a teacher confronted with a student who has a gap in his or her knowledge, I know that if I don't step up to the challenge and fill that gap with knowledge, there is a chance that the opportunity will pass by, and the student will remain ignorant of that point - or worse, that the student will fill that gap with falsehood and distortions. This realization keeps me going when I might have otherwise given up.)
   
2. Thinking about the basics is fun and delightful! Similarly, some people might find it boring, tedious, or useless to return to the basics time and time again, but I love it! I find that the yesodei ha'Torah (and I mean that in the broadest sense of the term) are the most enjoyable parts of Torah, and that joy is unlimited. To me, it's like listening to my favorite songs again and again. I might get tired of listening to some of them for a period of time, but there are plenty more to listen to while I take a break from the others, until I start craving the former ones once again.
   
3. Students' questions lead to new insights! You'd be surprised at how often a student will ask a new question about something which I think I understand, only to realize that the student's question opens a new vista for me. Even when they ask "old questions," they often do so in subtly new ways, and thinking about the elementary points from these new angles increases my clarity and often leads to new insight. And, like Feynman said, sometimes a student will ask his or her own question, prompting me to do some serious thinking "in that neighborhood," and ultimately leading me to discover my own questions, which lead to new discoveries, or old re-discoveries. 

In my case, there is an additional reason for why I enjoy teaching the basics. Every teacher has his or her own set of strengths, weaknesses, and passions, all of which contribute to his or her unique "calling" and personal teaching style. The more I teach, the more I have come to realize that my true calling lies in teaching the basics. That is where my talents and my passions coincide. Some people  (e.g. Richard Feynman) are cut out to be geniuses, or leaders, or pioneers. Others have a unique gift when it comes to doing outreach, or educating young children, or those with special needs. My own élan vital (or "Nindō," if you prefer) is to teach yesodei ha'Torah. If Torah is a giant building, I view myself as a custodian or groundskeeper. My job is to maintain the foundations of that building and clean up the messes that people leave behind. 

Where did my predilection for the basics come from? Who knows! But I will point out that my rebbi - my Mishlei/life rebbi - also has the same predilection, and I might just be taking after him. "Like metaphysical father, like metaphysical son," as they say. As a matter of fact, as I was writing this blog post, I got a call from him because he wanted to tell me about two new techniques he's implementing this year in going over basics with his students. I told him that I was writing about that very topic, and we both gushed over how exciting it is to try out new ways to teach the same old fundamentals. 

Anyway, I've just been thinking about this topic lately, now that the new school year is just around the corner, and seeing the Feynman post made me want to write something about it. I hope this was interesting to more people than just me!