Honestly, would we imagine ever not paying the custodian on time? Would we expect the custodian to return to work month after month without receiving his salary? Yet somehow it’s become accepted, even expected, for teachers to continue performing at their jobs – and always on time – without getting paid in a timely fashion. (It should also be noted that withholding the wages of a worker is an issur d’oraysa.)
We expect teachers to go without pay as part of the inherent “sacrifice” of being a teacher, and schools exploit the dedication (and desperation?) of teachers when money is a little tight. We expect teachers not to quit, though we don’t expect this of anyone else. It is also not unusual for yeshivas to change the terms of compensation (inevitably for the worse) after the school year has begun – when it is too late for a teacher realistically to find another job.
It is perfectly acceptable for a yeshiva to inform its faculty that money is tight and therefore salaries will have to be lowered, but a teacher can’t tell the school that money is tight and therefore he expects a raise.
(It should also be noted that changing the salary of workers after an agreement has been made is reminiscent of Lavan – not exactly the role model our yeshivas should be emulating.)
Now that we’re on the topic of compensation, a full-time teacher in the yeshiva system does not earn enough money to support a family. Period. While we expect our teachers to be brilliant, knowledgeable, and multi-talented, we fail to realize that such people are particularly likely to notice that they can be compensated far more adequately in nearly every other profession (including the public school system).
How can we expect our best and brightest to become teachers if we don’t pay them a living wage? And how can we expect our teachers to believe the complimentary platitudes we shower on them if we don’t show our respect where it counts most?
Not surprisingly, the yeshiva world tends to lure new teachers into the fold by two methods: impressing upon people from an early age that it’s a noble “sacrifice” to become a teacher, and depriving those who study Torah of the skills to get a “real job.” Indeed, it is the policy of many yeshivos not to hire a rebbe who has attended college, even if he might be the greatest talmid chacham and the best teacher around. Better an inferior rebbe to teach Torah to our children than one who has the stain of secular knowledge.
The Jewish day school system is surely one of the few employment systems in the world that as a matter of official policy will not hire the best available candidate. (This is aside from the widespread practice of hiring rebbeim with some sort of familial connection to the administrators, regardless of their competence or lack thereof.)
Being a teacher is often viewed as a great handicap when it comes to making a good shidduch, and the lower earning potential of teachers is why many a Jewish mother discourages her son from pursuing teaching as a career. Of course, we highly respect and value teachers, but we wouldn’t want our own son to be one or our daughter to marry one. Let someone else sacrifice a decent ifestyle for the continuity of Jewish education.
But can you entirely blame people for feeling this way?
Bear in mind that not only must an effective teacher be brilliant, knowledgeable, and multitalented, but also: an excellent speaker, a master of conflict resolution, able to deal with a variety of personalities in children and adults, highly organized, entertaining, efficient, punctual, sensitive, and so much more. If you had all these qualities, would yoube signing up to work in your nearest yeshiva for a pittance, or are you applying for a lucrative executive position with a major company?
