(On Graduating from Seminary)
Having gone to school for fourteen years, I feel myself entitled to give an opinion as to a certain contradiction encountered by school goers.
In the beginning, most students are very conscientious about school, doing all homework assigned, sharpening their pencils every evening, and bringing the required tzedakah money every morning (the writer, having experienced education only in a girl's Yeshiva, can only describe students in the female gender). The child feels, and rightly so, that her whole life revolves around the sacred institution known as school.
As soon as our little student grows taller and smarter, however, she becomes aware of several heretofore undiscovered facts. Not all people are gifted with the same quantity of brainpower. In every class there are "dumb" children and "smart" children. This unequal distribution of intelligence is evident not only from the kindergarten to the seminary population, but even in the adult world -- some parents are smarter than others. Then comes the shocker -- "Lo l'chachomim lechem" -- "The wise do not (always) have bread..." Success in school does not always lead to success in life! Even more of a shocker for the child is to slowly discover that knowing a lot doesn't always result in improved middos, proper use of abilities, nor constructive action. She might even come to realize that having the most stars on the chart doesn't mean you'll be the best mommy someday...
Slowly we all learn that "Talmud study is greater, for it leads to action," i.e. the greatness of learning is when it leads to action. The almost total emphasis in school on the accumulation of facts, while minimizing other aspects which would seem to outweigh learning in their value for future life and character development is, in my eyes, neglecting the main objective. Schools stress the acquisition of book-learning, yet in the future, it is usually the hashkafos (attitudes) and middos (character traits) which have a direct bearing on one's life as a mother in Israel. (After all, girls' Yeshivas are the foundation for a generation of Torah-true women, wives, and mothers, not merely child-care and, subsequently, mind-broadening institutions).
I believe that teachers must make a strong effort to ensure that every subject taught is relevant and enjoyable. It is well known that a person retains much more of what she learned if she enjoyed learning it. Can teachers begin to realize that when standing in front of a class, they should not aim merely to pump facts (even explanations and interpretations) into students' minds, but rather to use the subject being studied as a vehicle to mold good personalities? Every student must learn, but the teacher must also provide guidelines along the road of life to all students, regardless of ability or personality.
I guess I can say, in short, that to solve this problem, our Yeshivas need dedicated, creative teachers who care about each person they teach, and who strive to bring learning from theory and potential into actual practice.
I hope Hashem will give my classmates and myself the strength and merit to pass along to our future students, that which our teachers gave us.