Three Hashkafot, One Torah: Teaching Challenging Jewish Texts about Women
Ora Weinbach loves teaching Torah to all ages and audiences. She is a Walder Fellow, earning a PhD in Jewish Studies from Gratz College while serving as Young Israel of Scarsdale’s Community Educator. She previously served as Community Educator at the Young Israel of Brookline and The Jewish Center. She taught at the Maimonides (Boston) and Abraham J. Heschel (NY) high schools, was a Wexner Graduate Fellow, holds a Masters of Divinity from Yale Divinity school, a BA in Jewish Education from Yeshiva University, and is a certified Sexuality Educator.
It is impossible to learn and teach Torah without encountering texts that relate to women in challenging ways. Contemporary conceptions of women’s roles and rights chafe against stories and laws in the Tanakh and Talmud, the historical development of halakha, normative prayer practices, and underlying assumptions in philosophical works.
In this brief article, I do not attempt to soothe these tensions—that is far too great a task! Rather, I seek to offer the reader three conceptual frameworks—hashkafot, if you will—through which we tend to approach this tension in Orthodox day schools. Each hashkafa is described in the full-throated voice of a proponent of that lens. Then, I discuss some potential tradeoffs of using each conceptual framework in a Judaic studies classroom. Finally, I provide a case study, illustrating the use of all three paradigms in analyzing a single text.
These paradigms can be helpful in considering the Torah’s interaction with any number of contemporary values, but are applied here to texts raising challenging questions about Judaism’s attitude towards women. Additionally, there is much grey area between these frameworks, and they can be loosely combined with one another in myriad degrees and ways.
The goal is to provide opportunities for self-reflection. Consider: Which of these hashkafot do I subscribe to? What does my school curriculum expect me to teach? What perspective is at play in a particular commentary? What do my students think? Through educators’ increased clarity on our own frameworks, we can become more intentional about how we teach. We can clarify our content goals, soften our affect, and engage more generously with student questions. Ultimately, we become more mindful of the tradeoffs of our belief systems, and therefore better able to account for the hopefully unintended, potentially problematic implications of our teaching.
Traditionalist: The Torah is Right
Contemporary discomfort around the treatment of women in Judaism is just that—contemporary (read: fleeting). The Torah is eternal and Divine, a perfect source of wisdom that teaches us God’s will and way. When our worldviews seem to conflict with one another, as they often do when discussing gender-related issues, we are called on to overcome the pull of contemporary values and internalize the Torah’s perspective. God made men and women with physical and spiritual differences, which accounts for different religious and legal obligations and opportunities.
This logic also can be applied to actions taken by Torah personalities: our righteous ancestors’ behavior towards women is consistent with Jewish ethics, morals, and philosophy. This is usually how the rabbinic statement (Shabbat 56a): “Anyone who says that David sinned is certainly mistaken” is understood and taught; even though his actions might appear problematic, King David in reality did not behave wrongly in his interactions with Batsheva. Halakhic explanations can be provided for any supposed wrongdoing one might suggest. In the same vein, most women in Tanakh who were punished or harmed earned it as retribution for sinfulness. Thus, Dina (Jacob’s daughter) has responsibility for her own rape because she acted immodestly (Rashi on Genesis 34:1) and Mikhal (Saul’s daughter) is denied children due to her inappropriate comments to King David (II Samuel 6:23).
This of course does not mean that all people in the Tanakh act in consonance with the Torah’s ideals. Rather, the Torah includes stories about bad people acting towards women in incorrect ways to teach us what not to do. The mass rape of the concubine of Givah (Judges 19) was a horrific tragedy and Amnon’s abuse of Tamar (II Samuel 13) was wrong.
Discussion
This first conceptual framework is most often reflective of a Haredi hashkafa, which proudly rejects “modern values” that appear in tension with “Torah values.” This approach aims to dissolve any perceived tension by recognizing that it emerges from a foreign source which, by definition, is inferior to Torah. Such firmness of faith and self-assurance is comforting. Textual interpretations are mandated and unequivocal; there is a claim to Absolute Truth and authenticity. And for some students it resonates deeply and reassuringly.
This approach limits Torah interpretation to specific, authorized individuals who lived within particular historical contexts and often excludes critical study, which almost always suggests that things are—and have always been—much more complicated. As such, it is often off-putting to learners whose general hashkafa is not Haredi or who enter the classroom with a more creative attitude towards textual interpretation.
It also does not validate the discomfort expressed by students. Rejecting the premise of students’ questions, objections, and judgments may have the opposite of the intended effect: ridicule and total dismissal. This problematic dynamic can be particularly pronounced in Modern Orthodox day schools that hire Haredi Judaic studies teachers. When these teachers use the above lens in their classrooms, they often receive pushback from their students who come from homes and communities that give more credence to “modern values.” It is difficult (and potentially inconsistent with the school’s mission) to convince those who do not hold this worldview more broadly to accept the explanations it provides for challenging texts about women.
Harmonist: The Torah is Feminist
The Torah considers women and men equal, albeit different. In many cases, the Torah actually elevates women and considers us better than men. This approach emphasizes ways in which Judaism considers women special and powerful, and are respected and protected by halakha. Although at first glance, texts about women might appear problematic or challenging to a contemporary reader, upon closer examination, women are ultimately honored by the Torah.
Women play powerful and essential roles in Tanakh narratives. God tells Abraham to listen to Sarah and to banish Hagar and Yishmael (Genesis 21:12) because Sarah’s prophecy is greater than Abraham’s (Rashi); Devorah and Esther are great heroines, Manoah’s wife (Judges 13) and the Shunamite woman (II Kings 4) are the ones who merit miracles, not their dull-witted husbands. When women are hurt or mistreated, righteous men are often held responsible. The rape of Dina was the result of Jacob sheltering her too much, and King David enabled Amnon by setting a poor example in his treatment of women (II Samuel 13).
Laws that may appear to disadvantage women are really designed to protect us. The sotah ritual provides innocent women a way to clear their names from slander (Numbers 5:11-31), requiring a rapist to marry his virgin victim offers her the opportunity to recover her social status and financial stability that she otherwise would have lost (Deuteronomy 22:29). Women’s halakhic expectations are, for the most part, equivalent to men’s, and any gendered halakhic differences are attributed to female superiority. For example, women are exempt from time-bound commands because we are naturally more connected to God and therefore do not need regular reminders. At the same time, women have special mitzvot that connect us to God in uniquely feminine ways, such as lighting Shabbat candles and observing niddah laws.
This approach directs learners’ attention towards women-positive narratives and interpretations. When a particular text, story, or halakha appears disparaging towards women, it is minimized within the context of what is presented as the Torah’s overall thesis: women are equal, if not superior, to men.
Discussion
Proponents of this conceptual framework sustain a commitment to both “Torah values” and “modern values” by claiming that they in fact align. For those learners from a more modern background, it demonstrates the wisdom of the Torah by showing that it aligns with students’ own sense of wisdom. It aims to make Torah palatable to a contemporary audience.
Like many moderate approaches, the harmonist hashkafa risks satisfying nobody. It is not traditional enough to be accepted among right-wing Orthodox Jews, as it emphasizes the strain of rabbinic tradition that criticizes our righteous Biblical forebears, as in the examples discussed above, but it is also not feminist enough to appease progressive Orthodox Jews. It relies on a patently gender-essentialist definition of feminism, one with which most ideological feminists would disagree. It upholds traditional conventions of gender, such as treating women as beings in need of protection. Additionally, claiming that women are in fact better than men reinscribes hierarchical power structures, just inverted.
Ultimately, this approach attempts to align modern and Torah values, an aim which is more readily accomplished with some texts than others. Proving that the Torah affirms the value and dignity of women is necessary but not sufficient in soothing the deep discomfort that undergirds the particular questions students raise about many of these challenging texts. The most thorny topics remain difficult and, in those cases, this approach can only serve to distract and redirect our attention to more agreeable texts.
Contextualist: The Torah is Evolving
The sanctity of Torah is not only in the text itself, but also in the evolving interpretation of it. As history and universal ethics have progressed, we have developed a more moral society that recognizes the equality and autonomy of women. This has enabled God’s will to be further revealed through the development of our halakhic and interpretive processes.
The Torah records stories about people who lived at specific times and legislated real-world situations that emerged from particular societal norms. These historical contexts necessarily shape the Torah’s content, as the Torah was intelligible and meaningful to even its very first readers. For example, polygamy and paternal control over girls’ marriages were acceptable social norms in the Ancient Near East. Just because the Torah works within the reality of that historical framing does not mean that those realities are necessarily ideal or Divinely sanctioned. Many of the stories in Tanakh that describe or uphold challenging dynamics surrounding women can be understood in this light—despite our discomfort with these historical realities, we still strive to learn God’s deeper messages that transcend the context.
The same argument applies to challenging statements about women in the Talmud (and any pre-modern Jewish text). Women in antiquity almost never received any formal education, so teaching us Torah would have caused broad social upheaval. Familial structures and gendered responsibilities were universally rigorously prescribed—women’s energies were focused on child-rearing and caretaking, so expecting them to perform time-bound ritual mitzvot was simply unrealistic.
Even more notably, Judaism’s treatment of women has consistently been comparatively more affirming than its surrounding cultures. For example, instead of giving soldiers free rein over their war captives, as was apparently the case in other ancient cultures, the Torah legislates the treatment of a beautiful female captive, providing her with certain (albeit limited) protections (Deuteronomy 21:10-14). This trend towards supporting and empowering women has steadily progressed through the halakhic process. For example, although the sotah ritual ranks among the more troubling in the Torah, its practice was abolished by Rabban Yohanan ben Zakai (Mishna Sotah 9:9). Additionally, while the Bible’s rules about inheritance clearly privilege men (Numbers 27:1-11), rabbinic interpretation seriously complicates this inequality, such that this Biblical law is often no longer applied in contemporary practice.
Discussion
The contextualist framework validates contemporary discomfort with Torah texts, thus avoiding apologetic interpretations that may feel forced. Employing a historical lens, its methodology aligns more closely with academic Jewish studies, drawing support from archeology, history, and comparative cultural studies.
Some significant theological challenges emerge from this approach, which caution against its use, especially for younger, less sophisticated learners. Mitigating problematic aspects of the Torah as reflections of human imperfection complicates claims to the Torah’s perfection. If it was so heavily impacted by historical context, what aspects of the Torah are reliably eternal? How does one distinguish between what was culturally influenced and what is truly eternal? What makes our ancestors so great if they perpetuated the moral wrongs of their time? Although these questions can also be raised about rabbinic and pre-modern works, they are most unsettling when applied to the Humash, to which Orthodox Judaism ascribes a unique level of perfection and sanctity.
Additionally, this approach implies that halakha should evolve based on broader society’s moral reasoning. This argument has been forcefully applied to many areas of halakha by liberal denominations, resulting in practices that are decidedly not Orthodox. Teaching students to interpret challenging texts about women in this way models for them a method of interpretation that cannot be universally applied in Orthodox day schools.
Case Study: Judah and Tamar
In my high school classrooms, I often try to walk my students through multiple approaches. To illustrate, let’s examine one verse from the story of Judah and Tamar:
She removed her widow’s garments, covered herself with a veil, wrapped herself, and sat by the entrance to Einayim, which is on the way to Timna; for she saw that Shela was grown, and she was not given to him as wife. (Genesis 38:14)
This verse describes how, after waiting an extended amount of time following her first two husbands’ deaths, Tamar realizes that Judah does not intend to resolve her status by marrying her off to his youngest son, Shela. She therefore disguises her appearance and situates herself where she knows she will encounter Judah. Playing the part of a prostitute, Tamar seduces Judah and conceives from him without anyone else (including him!) knowing her true identity.
This verse could be challenging for many gender-related reasons, and I encourage students to ask their questions: How could Tamar consciously act so immodestly by dressing and positioning herself in such a way that made her appear like a prostitute? How is it fair that Tamar’s fate was so completely at Judah’s discretion, who decided when and who she could marry? Was it wrong of Tamar to entrap Judah into getting her pregnant by lying about her identity?
We then explore a range of possible answers, drawing on an array of supporting material, including but not limited to rabbinic interpretation, medieval commentaries, contemporary scholarship, literary analysis, or student theories. I encourage students to develop and then evaluate each answer. Using the three approaches explicated above, below are some potential interpretations the class often considers.
Traditionalist: Both Tamar and Judah acted righteously. Tamar did not act immodestly. When the next verse states that Judah did not recognize her “because she had covered her face,” the midrash interprets this phrase as referring not to a disguise Tamar wore to trick Judah, but to her extraordinary standard of modesty at all other times. Tamar’s face was always covered, so Judah “did not see her all of the days that she lived in his house [as his daughter-in-law], so therefore he did not recognize her (Sotah 10b).” Judah also did not violate any prohibitions. He followed the rules of yibbum, observed the precept stated in Ketubot 43b prohibiting a woman from marrying a third time if her two first husbands died, and did his best to compensate the unknown-to-him woman at the crossroads fairly.
This approach relies on selections of rabbinic literature to support a non-literal reading of the text to maintain the moral perfection of righteous Biblical characters. It praises a standard of modesty that feels quite removed from students’ experiences, and emphasizes following halakha over engaging with moral questions of honesty and autonomy.
Harmonist: Tamar is an empowered, brave, and virtuous woman. Judah, on the other hand, acts poorly for the majority of this narrative. He was blind to his own sons’ sinfulness and misjudged Tamar to be the cause of their death. He erred in keeping his youngest son from marrying her and prolonging her widowed status. But instead of waiting around for her fate to be ruined by others, Tamar takes matters into her own hands. Judah had gotten down on himself and had stopped acting as a leader after his failure in selling his brother Joseph as a slave (the narrative immediately preceding this one). His moral failure made Judah willing to devalue the symbols of his leadership—his staff and signet ring—and use them as collateral payment to a supposed prostitute. Tamar recognizes Judah’s passivity and does everything in her power to rectify the situation. By the end of this narrative, Tamar succeeds in getting Judah to take responsibility for his actions and reclaim his leadership. Not only does Tamar get the children she is promised by the practice of yibbum, she also catalyzes Judah’s personal development.
This approach emphasizes a literal and literary read of the text. It criticizes Judah’s behavior, especially as a foil to Tamar’s. And while it does not specifically address the systemic circumstances that led to Tamar’s situation or explain her eyebrow-raising choices, it centers Tamar as the heroine of the narrative.
Contextualist: Ancient Near Eastern structures of marriage and the observance of yibbum puts Tamar in an impossible double bind. She is entirely at the whim of men, with no socially approved way of advocating for herself. She had no say in her first two marriages to wicked men. She remains trapped as a widow, awaiting a third levirate marriage that Judah has no intention of allowing. For Tamar, as for many other marginalized and vulnerable women, deceit and prostitution were the only avenues available to better her situation. Although Tamar made decisions that might not align with our moral judgments, she did the best she could from within a reality that gave her little other choice. Nowadays, yibbum is essentially obsolete. Women have increased autonomy in partner selection, protection in problematic marriages, and avenues for financial self-sufficiency. Our social structures would be far less likely to enable a comparable situation.
This approach uses a historical lens to alleviate negative judgment of Tamar’s behavior (and, to a lesser extent, Judah’s) by identifying the socio-cultural factors that contributed to the situation. Distancing the narrative from our contemporary experience makes it challenging for students to extrapolate personal meaning.
Conclusion
The three conceptual frameworks articulated above differ from one another in many ways: theologically, interpretively, affectively, pedagogically. Most likely, an educator’s selection of a particular framework when teaching challenging Jewish texts about women reflects the broader hashkafa animating their other lessons and educational choices. Yet it is especially these texts that seem to have so very much at stake for our students. Day school graduates remember these class discussions for decades, with former students gushing about these positive religious experiences. Unfortunately, however, many young adults I speak with recall the lessons on these topics—which did not offer a range of approaches—with pain, confusion, mockery, or anger.
It is hard to teach these texts well, and none of these approaches is without its drawbacks, even as each of them contains deep wisdom. In teaching challenging texts about women, we can elevate our instruction by accounting as best we can for the potential drawbacks of our chosen framework.
As I illustrated above, depending on the sophistication of the learners, it is possible to teach multiple approaches. Doing so enables students to understand the broader implications of a particular interpretation, feel empowered to wrestle with these questions themselves, and ultimately select an interpretation with which they feel comfortable. Over time, they construct their own broader approach and are able to articulate, recognize the tradeoffs of, and take responsibility for their own emerging hashkafot.
While learning and analyzing multiple interpretations of each narrative involves considerable time investment, allowing students to choose from multiple interpretations implicitly validates the whole range of approaches and also—at least in theory—allows students to come to their own conclusions. Some teachers and schools, especially the more traditionalist ones, consider this too risky. In my experience these tradeoffs are worthwhile, particularly in a Modern Orthodox day school. By encouraging students to take responsibility for their own learning and hashkafot, we prepare them to be empowered lifelong Jews in a complicated world.
Ora Weinbach loves teaching Torah to all ages and audiences. She is a Walder Fellow, earning a PhD in Jewish Studies from Gratz College while serving as Young Israel of Scarsdale’s Community Educator. She previously served as Community Educator at the Young Israel of Brookline and The Jewish Center. She taught at the Maimonides School (Boston) and Abraham J. Heschel high schools (NY), was a Wexner Graduate Fellow, holds a Master of Divinity from Yale Divinity School, a BA in Jewish Education from Yeshiva University, and is a certified sexuality educator.
From The Editor: Fall 2025
The year was 1982. I was studying in Jerusalem for the year and my roommate invited me to join him on one of his visits to an elderly recent immigrant from the Soviet Union now living in an absorption center. When we arrived, I was introduced to the elderly gentleman, who told me that his name was Mr. Morehdin (although I suspected that the name was not his original one). While he had a difficult life in the Soviet Union, having spent time in Siberia, he chose to share with us that day how he survived a Nazi concentration camp. One day a Nazi guard summoned him, having heard that he was Talmud scholar. The guard had been told that there were disparaging statements in the Talmud about gentiles, and even laws discriminating between gentiles and Jews in civil matters.
Deuteronomy and the Buddhas of Bamiyan
The Buddhas of Bamiyan were two giant Buddha statues, each well over 100 feet tall, that survived nearly 1500 years until they were obliterated by the Taliban in 2001. The explicit motive of the destruction was extreme Islamic iconoclasm. Almost as soon as the explosions were broadcast worldwide, I raised the obvious connections to Deuteronomy 12:You are to demolish, yes, demolish, all the [sacred] places where the nations that you are dispossessing served their gods, on the high hills and on the mountains and beneath every luxuriant tree; you are to wreck their altars, you are to smash their standing-pillars, their Asherot you are to burn with fire, and the carved-images of their gods, you are to cut-to-shreds—so that you cause their name to perish from that place!
Troubling Texts or Troubling Troubles with Texts?
In the instruction of Biblical or Rabbinic texts, it is quite common for teachers to experience apparent conflicts between the values arising from the texts and the prevailing values of their students. Teachers may feel torn between their loyalty to Jewish tradition that they are expected to impart and their personal and/or cultural identification with the students entrusted to their care. It is my contention and experience that the sharper or more painful the apparent conflict between the values of a text and the values of students, the greater the educational potential. However, teachers need to carefully consider how their own value-orientational ambivalence is playing a role in the educational dissonance—are we really dealing with “troubling texts,” or are we dealing with troubling troubles with texts?
Rebranding God
I’ve been teaching for forty years, mostly to day school graduates. And I’ve noticed something surprising: very few of them have had real educational experiences exploring who God is—or what kind of relationship we’re meant to have with Him. They’re taught about Judaism, Torah, Halakha—but not God.
I won’t explore why that’s the case here, but I do want to talk about the consequences.
We live in a world shaped by beliefs. Beliefs build our reality. They can uplift and energize us—or drain and depress us.
Tanakh’s Challenging Issues: Traditional and Modern Torah Perspectives in Dialogue
Many people view traditional religious and modern critical orientations to Tanakh study as mutually exclusive… Yet, presenting these two approaches as oppositional, with only one holding a claim to the “real” truth, forces students to choose between the curiosity of their minds and the yearnings of their souls, rather than cultivating and nourishing both aspects of their personhood as fully committed Jews living in the modern world. In its best form, Jewish education should involve teaching critical academic and traditional religious perspectives alongside one another, so that students can see the value of both approaches in uncovering the Tanakh’s multivalent meaningfulness and come to embrace the texts of their heritage “with all their hearts, minds, and souls.”
Engaging the Gemara Gap
In my mid to late teens, I became very attached to the study of Gemara. That passion continued for me until, as a twenty-something, I began teaching it to high school students. I soon came to the realization that I did not understand the Gemara in a way that allowed me to successfully transmit its meaning to others. My cultural and religious connection to Gemara had been strong, but not because its contents were fully clear to me. In fact, coming to this realization, I stopped teaching Gemara for a while.Years later, I fell in love with Gemara again. Now, I love learning difficult segments in the Gemara. These are not necessarily morally or ethically disturbing texts. For me, difficult texts are those where meaning-making is not simple; where, as a learner, I will ask: ”What is this Gemara trying to say and why is it here at all?”
A Conversation Across Contexts: A Case for Intertextual Jewish Education
Some Jewish texts are difficult to teach because they demand so much from us and, even more challengingly, our students. They present moral tensions, portray uncomfortable ideas, or raise questions about our faith that sit uneasily with younger thinkers trying to reconcile earlier voices with contemporary values when they feel most comfortable in a space of clear definition. Avoiding these texts can feel easier, but doing so undermines an opportunity for meaningful engagement. When we engage them honestly—balancing yirat shamayim and intellectual integrity—we offer them opportunities for deep learning, not just of content, but of character. I teach both English and Limudei Kodesh at a Modern Orthodox high school.
The King David Hotel Bombing: Eyewitness Accounts as Educational Tools
On 22 July 1946, a massive explosion ripped through the King David Hotel in Jerusalem, leaving 91 people dead, dozens injured, and significant damage to the building itself. Although all three paramilitary organizations operating in the Yishuv had known about this event beforehand, the Irgun was solely involved in planning and executing the attack. This bombing is a critical moment in the history of modern Israel, exemplifying the desperate lengths to which Jews in Palestine were willing to go to confront the British through increasingly military means. At the time, the bombing of the King David Hotel was condemned by many, including the international press and even prominent figures such as Chaim Weizmann.
Love, Gender, and Leviticus
For the final unit assessment of our 12th grade Jewish Studies elective called “Love, Gender, and Relationships,” students had to address the prohibition of same-sex intimacy found in Leviticus 18:22. They could either explore the inclusion of this text in the Yom Kippur Minha Torah reading or respond to a (fictional) friend’s request for advice regarding Jewish practice and same-sex relations. Gabby—a dedicated student who had never missed a deadline—requested an extension because she cried every time she sat down to write.
The Ephemeral Nature of Difficult Texts
This article is neither a record of success nor of unmitigated failure. It is a reflective description and evaluation of my experience, which I see as part of my own professional growth and which I share in the hope that it will be of help to other teachers. I should add the caveat that this reflection is happening much too soon for reliability. My standard line to students is that I judge my teaching by the condition of their souls ten years afterward (and I love it when they call to let me do that).Nearly three decades ago, I taught the book of Jeremiah in a Modern Orthodox high school. I identified ways that the text might challenge my students and planned my teaching around them.
Using Context and Subtext to Unpack the Text
Teachers of Torah texts in the day school setting are bound to encounter a text that contains content that is difficult to teach. It can be especially difficult when the text seems to be working from a framework of values or interests that are distant from the current moment. Or, it may just be too heavy a lift to explain to students what a particular text or story was trying to accomplish when the students only notice a bothersome turn of phrase. With attention paid to context and subtext, a text that initially seems troubling may show depth that makes teaching it not only possible, but essential. An example of this can be found on Kiddushin 49a-b. The Gemara begins a discussion about how to make sure a man has fulfilled a condition he set regarding his own character traits in order to accomplish the transaction of kiddushin.
Shelo Asani… Navigating Prayer Practices in a Modern Orthodox School
Oakland Hebrew Day School is a Modern Orthodox school that draws from a wide range of religiously diverse families. With our enrollment coming from (and relying on) a diversity of affiliations, our commitment to maintaining our Modern Orthodox identity sometimes creates complications, particularly in the realm of our tefillah practices. Many parents don’t have personal prayer practices, and for parents who do, some use liturgy or have traditions from different denominations. Like many schools, we have a siddur ceremony in the 1st grade in which students receive their own siddurim. As an Orthodox school, we distribute Orthodox siddurim (we have been using the Koren Youth Siddur).
Utilizing Communities of Inquiry to Navigate Challenging Tanakh Texts
When addressing morally complex Tanakh texts, middle school educators face the dual challenge of maintaining textual integrity while fostering meaningful student engagement. To meet this challenge, we have introduced “Communities of Inquiry” (CoI), a pedagogical approach rooted in the Philosophy for Children (P4C) movement. These collaborative learning environments allow students and teachers to explore ideas, questions, and ethical dilemmas that arise from complex Tanakh passages. In this framework, students engage in “doing philosophy”—not as an academic discipline, but as a way of thinking that deepens their connection to Tanakh and to the broader human experience.This approach emphasizes philosophy as an active, practice-based discipline.
Struggling with Form and Feeling
Over a delectable meal during Hanukkah in 2012, Professor Gerald Bubis told me about a sermon he had heard at Valley Beth Shalom in Los Angeles. In it, Rabbi Harold Shulweis passionately insisted that kashrut practices must be rooted in ethical consciousness. “The Jewish theology of kashrut is not pots and pantheism,” Shulweis poetically preached from the bimah in 2009. Jerry spoke to me not only as a budding Jewish educator, but also as a future family member, encouraging me to balance halakhic rigor with spiritual depth. He railed against mechanical or performative acts, in all arenas. This was one of our earliest and most memorable conversations. Thirteen years later, while teaching a capstone course in modern Jewish thought to high school seniors at Rochelle Zell Jewish High School, I found myself reflecting on that encounter.
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