Schools exist to educate clusters of children. Perhaps inevitably they operate at times in ways that counter the paramount precept of Torah education, chanoch l’naar al pi darcho – that each child should be taught in the manner that best ensures his advancement. It is difficult for educators to focus significantly on each student’s individuality, on each student’s particular circumstances and capabilities. If our schools are not equipped to devote time and resources to obtain optimum results for each student, they remain obligated not to undermine a child’s self-esteem.
This isn’t an easy task. Tests, grades and report cards are instrumentalities for the measuring of educational progress and not for the promotion of self-esteem. Much the same can be said about the rules and procedures that abound in all schools. They seek to establish conformity so that the school can go about its core educational mission. Inevitably, they suppress individuality and punish students, perhaps only emotionally, who do not conform. In the process, they may shake the confidence of those who are emotionally fragile.
In addition to their core educational responsibilities, our schools have the collateral task of religious socialization, of molding children so that they emerge as responsible and capable adults who live good Jewish lives and function well in society. This task mandates greater flexibility toward weaker students, students from marginally observant homes and students who are emotionally fragile. Yeshivas and day schools must practice what they preach by showing patience toward such students. Our educators routinely counsel parents to be patient, but the same quality is too infrequently practiced by school officials. “Do as I say and not as I do” is apparently the motto of some educators. In the process, they add to the at-risk ranks.
There was a time when yeshivas went the extra mile to attract and retain students, accepting applicants from homes that were not up to religious standards. Their hope and even expectation was that they could bring about Judaic growth. Our schools also kept students who were not up to par academically. They served as instrumentalities for outreach, in a sense taking children who were at-risk Jewishly or in other ways and they strove to reinforce these students’ religious and emotional foundations. Some of these students have become outstanding religious leaders, while many more have become wonderful religious adults. Had the attitudes that prevail now been in place decades ago, many of these children would have been lost to Judaism.
Now, the attitude in too many of our schools is to reject applicants, as if this demonstrates that they are stronger Torah institutions. They also are quick to expel students who do not readily fit in. I have heard principals say that they never expel a student until they have found a substitute school, as if expulsion alone is not sufficient to destroy a child’s confidence and emotional underpinnings. In my experience, the truth is usually otherwise and students are expelled even when there is no other school that will accept them.
While the yeshiva world’s attitude in years past was “Let’s open our doors wide so that we will attract students who otherwise would not be taught Torah and lead religious lives,” these days the doors are shut in too many places, even at schools that have seats to spare. These schools are afraid to risk their reputation by taking in non-at risk youngsters who do not come from ideal religious homes or backgrounds.
Is it any wonder that today there are more defections from Orthodoxy than there are those whom we are attracting through kiruv? We do a good job bemoaning the expanding at-risk population, while at the same time we contribute to this expansion.
