Implementing Education

How many times have I learned that exercise is good for me? And a healthy diet, and a good sleeping schedule? Do I do these things? Not exactly. Does the smoker not realize that he is giving himself lung cancer? Of course not! How many times have I learned that I have to stand up for myself-- that I have to take initiative? How many times have I learned that self control is the way to holiness? Have I not internalized these messages? I think I have. I suppose that question is up for debate, but I think that the missing link between knowledge and practice is teaching implementation.
It seems to me that the educational system is structured such that the more removed one is from real life, the more academically prestigious she is. Ideas should be judged in a vacuum, on their own merits. I am not necessarily disputing that position (granted, I might another time), but it strikes me as a paradox of tremendous proportions that we can achieve great development of the mind so much that the ideas become removed to a point that we never even consider the need to bring what we've learned into what we all know as "real life."
Some would argue that this inability to implement knowledge shows a deficiency in our understanding. However, I think that it's just a different part of our minds at work. It could be that once implemented, these ideas develop new meaning to us, but i don't think that an inability to implement indicates poor knowledge.
I think that we have role models who haven't implemented the lessons they teach, and so we continue the vicious cycle from generation to generation. Rabbis and teachers are sometimes the most power seeking, emotionally and physically unhealthy people, and they are whom we send our children-- and ourselves! for guidance. How twisted is that? Why would I judge a person's leadership abilities based on how well he did on an exam, or even how well he can give a sermon? We aren't focusing on the right things.
Halacha class is another example of where this issue comes up. In a class about Jewish law, at best we study rules based on a system-- at worst, we study rules. In none of these instances to we learn implementation of the rules. The closest thing to this would be in a Jewish Philosophy class or discussion group where the question might be brought up: should we do x? and why? However, even in those contexts, implementation is a step further.
You will tell me, and I would have said this a few years ago, too-- that the reason we don't learn implementation is because that is where a person's free choice comes into play. That's where yirat shamayim and personal discipline and responsibility become important. Fine. I will agree with that argument. But that just begs another question: when did i learn about yirat shamayim? I'm told that in more Yeshevish places, yirat shamayim is discussed more frequently, but in my educational experiences, it has been notably absent. In what class did we cover self discipline? Is this post sounding ridiculously fluffy? I don't think that implementation-al, behavioral training has to be fluffy. I think it is an essential piece of the puzzle that is missing from our educations.
When I sit in a class, I can be a star student, and that will make me a teacher's pet. A kid who zones out, loses his homework and does poorly on his tests could be doing a better job implementing what he knows into his life. The relationship between knowledge and real life is weak, and implementation of knowledge learned is not considered in school until you have reached a level where the educators feel they are preparing you for your career. What message does that send? The only practically important part of your life is your career? Or, termed generously, the only useful thing for life that school can help you with is your career?
This highlights a real problem with the educational model that we have. It is detrimental to students who are practically minded at all stages of schooling, and it is detrimental to every single one of us, since we are all missing out on a very essential part of our education-- the implementation.
I'm not exactly sure what a curriculum to teach implementation would involve. In Faranack Margolese's Off the Derech, she discussed the importance of building a child's self-esteem in her youth, as that gives her the confidence to be self discipline and to therefor live by her ideals. I imagine that in grade school, the mandatory tefilla attendance, and group bracha making and the like, were all trying to develop habits in school-- a form of teaching implementation. How could we implement lessons from classes that didn't seem practical? How can I bring Chumash Vayikra into my life without bringing animal sacrifices? Conversly, how would we teach an implementation of the ethics in Pirkei Avot? Would it just be a bunch of rebbe stories that you would hear at an NCSY tisch? Or could we somehow make this substantial? Is teaching implementation overstepping the bounds of a student's rights to privacy and free choice? Would the students feel more turned off by implementation education-- like so many do for tefilla?
If anyone has other ideas and thoughts about how someone would do this, please feel free to share.

Finding Identity Alone

I paid a shiva call a few weeks ago to a middle aged woman whose sister passed away from cancer. She was a true blue New Yorker- the woman who i was visiting was sitting in her sister's apartment-- a hip studio with a loft near the village. She spoke about her sister with enthusiasm as though she were still around, remembering good times together with her. She passed around pictures, and told how her sister was an energetic, intelligent woman who had a dedicated boyfriend who stayed with her until the last. Her sister designed kitchens, and she said that quite a few people had visited during the shiva saying that they loved the job that she did. She was well loved by her nieces and nephews-- they all called her their "cool aunt."
One story stuck out in the woman (whom I was visiting)'s mind. She said that one of her sons got into a car accident, and when she called her sister while she was working, she answered the phone, "what do you want?" which, she explained, was how they answered each other's calls. After she told her how her son got into an accident, her sister responded immediately, "take all the time you need." She said she was so much there for her when she needed her to be.
Her sister showed me a copy of what her daughter said about her aunt at the funeral. It bespoke genuine love, admiration, awe and respect for this aunt's entire life. The way she could finish the crossword puzzle in an hour, the passion she had for art, the energy she put into her work and attention and compassion she gave to her friends and family.
And the cancer took her, and the nurses all loved her, and she would still look after her boyfriend, getting him a physical trainer.
She reminded me of my grandmother-- single for a large part of her life, loved by all, a serious, ambitious woman. She reminded me of my writing and music professors, liberal, non-conventional artists in New York who never marry and settle down with a family, even if they do have life-partners.
I thought of other experiences I'd had in shiva houses, where I felt that the niftar's spouse and children didn't have that much to say about the person they were mourning. They felt a sadness, and they missed having a parent/spouse. They spoke of how the person was a good person; a good employee; a good parent. I haven't always heard of how the person inspired those who are living, how they changed their lives.
Obviously, this description is not comprehensive or accurate, and there are exceptions in both directions, but this experience made me think that one chooses between one's self and one's family. I imagined that women (in particular-- this might be true for men, too) who do not marry can spend their lives finding themselves, and pursuing dreams. Women who marry, on the other hand, and stay married until the end, give up their dreams of personal fulfilment for the satisfaction of having safety and security in a stable marriage and with the preoccupation of raising children.
As I noted before, of course, this is not a true observation, but was highlighted by comparing a very small number of instances, and viewing them with a very particular lens. My question is why? What makes me view these experiences from this end? I know of many men and women personally, who have been able to maintain a personal sense of identity while at the same time participating in effective family life. Of course, it is ideal that the family should enhance one's individuality and vice-versa, but for some reason, I imagined this necessary sacrifice of one for the other. In fact, a part of me is still saying that one does, to a certain extent, necessarily give up on individuality when she joins in this heteronomous partnership, and that these experiences were classic examples of this.
I think that perhaps my life experience points me in this direction based on the fact that we spend much of our lives as youth growing and developing into the people we will become on our own. Especially since I gave up being friends with boys while I was in high school in an effort to focus on personal growth. I associate single-hood with a personal development. Relationships, for some reason or another, seem like finished-person territory. I think that this worked as a perception before I reached a stage of life where marriage was a real possibility, and now that I'm here, it's no longer plausible. Don't get me wrong-- some people are finished the minute they start. They have basically the same personality, the same values, often the same thoughts, when they're thirty as they had when they were in high school. But I can't be that person. I'm going to be changing for a good long time, and this is a difficulty for a few reasons:
1. It seems to join up together with another person, certain decisions have to be made about values and beliefs. This forces you to freeze a dynamic, fluid life at a given moment, and say, "this is me!"
2. Practically, much of one's time and many of one's resources are dedicated to one's personal fulfilment, and this cannot be maintained in adulthood. The thoughtful, introspective college student will wake up one morning buried under bills and house chores, with carpools and doctors appointments, and wonder why she hasn't read (or written) a good piece of thoughtful literature in a while. The transition from one stage of life to another begins with the relationship that will become a marriage, where we loose our autonomy to a degree.
In the end of the day, though, I think it is important for us to know ourselves, and to look for people with whom we'll be able to thrive as partners-- but also, as individuals. We cannot only be concerned with our personal goals anymore, because we have another person (and then people) in the picture to consider, but we cannot give up on them entirely.
I suppose this post is starting to sound cliche, but it's not an easy thing to implement into one's life. Once we are confronted with the relationship, we realize that so much of our identities are formed alone, and that this relationship is going to challenge that autonomy. But, we hope that that will lead to personal growth, and that it will all be worthwhile.