There are many things I miss about when our children were younger, but one thing I don’t miss so much are parent teacher conferences. Sometimes they were illuminating and sometimes they were frustrating.
I remember once Deanna and I went to speak with our son's English teacher. I walked into the room and the teacher had his grade book out, and started telling us about how he averaged all the scores and came up with the final grade.
I listened and said thank you and then asked, Is our son interested in what’s going on in class?
I realized that what I said could be interpreted as a critique of the teacher which was not my intention at all, so I said, I’m really just trying to ask if he’s curious about what’s going on. Does he seem to like the books you are reading? Is he excited to write about them, to be be part of the discussions you’re having?
I want to take a few minutes this morning to talk about curiosity. It’s at the heart of this holiday of Shavuot and it’s at the heart of whether we succeed or fail as individuals, as a people, as a species. Curiosity.
Children are naturally curious. Sometimes we prevent the natural curiosity of children from expressing itself and sometimes I fear our natural curiosity is stunted as we get older because we get contextualized in the lives we are living and so our vision gets smaller and smaller.
It seems like the story of God’s revelation to the children of Israel at Sinai is one extensive imposition of God onto us. Loud sounds, thunder, lightening. Initially there is a significant amount of intimidation. But curiosity does emerge, first expressed as fear, later as a willingness to observe and to learn.
Over the course of the biblical narratives which unfold, the Israelites will reveal their own curiosity about what God revealed and about how they are meant to act in the world. Moses will seek clarification on a number of points as the Israelites continue their trek through the wildness. The daughters of Zelophechad will inquire about what will happen to their father’s property since he died leaving behind no sons.
The rabbis who continue to explore what God wants of us will urge those who study Torah to make their ears like a hopper, to sift through all that has been said and to try to make practical sense of it.
They will proffer the concept known as תורה לשמה Torah lish’mah - studying Torah for its own sake.
Studying Torah “for its own sake” means not to get an answer necessarily; not to solve a specific problem necessarily; not even necessarily to find something that might be relevant. But rather to dive in and learn and then see where it goes. This concept strikes me as the quintessential expression of curiosity.
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz wrote a piece about human curiosity in which he argued that the quest to be relevant can actually kill curiosity. Here are his own words:
“Teachers, and sometimes parents, think that relevance enhances the desire and the inclination to learn, when in truth, it actually destroys curiosity; and curiosity is what matters most. Our interest in irrelevant things – in things that have no immediate, and maybe even no remote, relevance to our existence – is part of our uniqueness as human beings.”
We can and ought to be be curious about ideas, texts, Torah. We can and ought to be curious about our planet.
We also can and ought to be curious about people. A humble and healthy curiosity - not nosy, not patronizing, but humble and healthy - as in, “I want to learn more about that person, or that group of people, because people are fascinating and it’s interesting to know more.”
Sometimes intimidation can suppress curiosity and sometimes feeling superior to others can suppress it.
Over a hundred years ago a rabbinic court in Jerusalem wrote to the leaders of the Ethiopian Jewish community, whom they had heard about, saying to them, if you want to come to Jerusalem to learn more about authentic Jewish practice, we would be honored to host you and teach you as much as we can.
Weeks later they got the following response: Thank you for your kind offer. We wish to make an offer as well. If you want to come to Ethiopia to learn more about authentic Jewish practice, we would be honored to host you and teach you as much as we can.
Sometimes lack of curiosity is patronizing. We assume others want to know more about us, but why should we want to learn more about them?
Our lack of curiosity about others can convey that we think that we’re more authentic, more legitimate, than others - that we have more to offer than to receive. And that’s just not true.
We should be curious about other people, especially about differences.
We should display appropriate curiosity about other people’s stories, especially when they differ from our own. We should be curious about the stories of Jews who come from all over the world and people of other faiths and no faith. We should be curious about the stories of people who are struggling and people who have overcome struggles. Not just during Pride Month, but all year round, we should be curious about the stories of people who represent the full range of gender identities and sexual orientations.
Curiosity, offered with an open heart, ideally without preconditions, offers the possibility of understanding and even celebration. Curiosity opens doors.
I’ve mentioned the TV series Deanna and I have been watching about a group of midwives living and working in England half a century ago. It’s called “Call the Midwife.” One of my favorite characters, an elderly nun named Sister Monica Joan, is the embodiment of the positive impact of curiosity. Though she sometimes gets confused, she has a voracious appetite for reading and exploring. Her curiosity embraces books, songs, food, television and, in generous measure, other people.
Turns out at one point she needs cataract surgery and she’s terrified. Spoiler alert: she gets the surgery and she’s lying in recovery next to another woman who is also recovering. They both have patches on their eyes and therefore cannot see one another. The other woman does not have the same intellectual background Sister Monica Joan. She talks a lot and annoys the Sister at first but then they start to get to know one another better, chatting while recovering.
Sister, the other woman asks, have you ever known a fella? Oh yes, I’ve known two especially well, says Sister Monica Joan. What were their names? the woman asks.
Odysseus and Jason, says Sister Monica Joan, referring to heroes of the ancient Greek mythological tradition that was a mainstay of her intellectual upbringing. Were they local boys? the woman asks. And Sister Monica Joan says, “They were to me.” Her curiosity is a response to the other woman's curiosity. The curiosity of these two women is mutually reinforcing and opens doors between them.
My father (alav hashalom), after retiring from decades working as an accountant and controller, enrolled part-time in a local college and made a point of taking classes he couldn’t take during his undergraduate years. He especially loved a class he took in French literature. He had so much fun telling me about the session on Cyrano de Bergerac in which the professor explained why it’s so hard to translate the play into English. His curiosity also extended to people. He was definitely not an extrovert, but he wanted to understand other people.
It all made a positive impression on me. I could see that his curiosity opened doors for him and those around him. It added to our relationship for sure.
When we transcend the terror of intimidation or the smugness of patronization or the tyranny of immediate relevance, all of which inhibit our natural curiosity, we experience the opening of doors that leads to new worlds, what the kabbalists would call, עלמי עלמיא almei almaya, worlds upon worlds.
On this festival when we celebrate the encounter between God and humanity, I invite us to embrace our natural curiosity about the written word, the spoken word, and the lived word.
When Sister Monica Joan opened her eyes and discovered that she was seeing things she hadn’t seen before, she smiled broadly and exclaimed, “I am alive!!”
The more we seek to know, the more we seek to understand, about Torah in its broadest sense, about the world with all of its mysteries, about one another with all of OUR mysteries, the more fully alive we will feel.
I invite all of us to pursue our curiosity and hope that, in so doing, we will open one door after another.
Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck on Shavuot 5779
Curiosity undimmed in the British TV series, "Call the Midwife"
I remember once Deanna and I went to speak with our son's English teacher. I walked into the room and the teacher had his grade book out, and started telling us about how he averaged all the scores and came up with the final grade.
I listened and said thank you and then asked, Is our son interested in what’s going on in class?
I realized that what I said could be interpreted as a critique of the teacher which was not my intention at all, so I said, I’m really just trying to ask if he’s curious about what’s going on. Does he seem to like the books you are reading? Is he excited to write about them, to be be part of the discussions you’re having?
I want to take a few minutes this morning to talk about curiosity. It’s at the heart of this holiday of Shavuot and it’s at the heart of whether we succeed or fail as individuals, as a people, as a species. Curiosity.
Children are naturally curious. Sometimes we prevent the natural curiosity of children from expressing itself and sometimes I fear our natural curiosity is stunted as we get older because we get contextualized in the lives we are living and so our vision gets smaller and smaller.
It seems like the story of God’s revelation to the children of Israel at Sinai is one extensive imposition of God onto us. Loud sounds, thunder, lightening. Initially there is a significant amount of intimidation. But curiosity does emerge, first expressed as fear, later as a willingness to observe and to learn.
Over the course of the biblical narratives which unfold, the Israelites will reveal their own curiosity about what God revealed and about how they are meant to act in the world. Moses will seek clarification on a number of points as the Israelites continue their trek through the wildness. The daughters of Zelophechad will inquire about what will happen to their father’s property since he died leaving behind no sons.
The rabbis who continue to explore what God wants of us will urge those who study Torah to make their ears like a hopper, to sift through all that has been said and to try to make practical sense of it.
They will proffer the concept known as תורה לשמה Torah lish’mah - studying Torah for its own sake.
Studying Torah “for its own sake” means not to get an answer necessarily; not to solve a specific problem necessarily; not even necessarily to find something that might be relevant. But rather to dive in and learn and then see where it goes. This concept strikes me as the quintessential expression of curiosity.
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz wrote a piece about human curiosity in which he argued that the quest to be relevant can actually kill curiosity. Here are his own words:
“Teachers, and sometimes parents, think that relevance enhances the desire and the inclination to learn, when in truth, it actually destroys curiosity; and curiosity is what matters most. Our interest in irrelevant things – in things that have no immediate, and maybe even no remote, relevance to our existence – is part of our uniqueness as human beings.”
We can and ought to be be curious about ideas, texts, Torah. We can and ought to be curious about our planet.
We also can and ought to be curious about people. A humble and healthy curiosity - not nosy, not patronizing, but humble and healthy - as in, “I want to learn more about that person, or that group of people, because people are fascinating and it’s interesting to know more.”
Sometimes intimidation can suppress curiosity and sometimes feeling superior to others can suppress it.
Over a hundred years ago a rabbinic court in Jerusalem wrote to the leaders of the Ethiopian Jewish community, whom they had heard about, saying to them, if you want to come to Jerusalem to learn more about authentic Jewish practice, we would be honored to host you and teach you as much as we can.
Weeks later they got the following response: Thank you for your kind offer. We wish to make an offer as well. If you want to come to Ethiopia to learn more about authentic Jewish practice, we would be honored to host you and teach you as much as we can.
Sometimes lack of curiosity is patronizing. We assume others want to know more about us, but why should we want to learn more about them?
Our lack of curiosity about others can convey that we think that we’re more authentic, more legitimate, than others - that we have more to offer than to receive. And that’s just not true.
We should be curious about other people, especially about differences.
We should display appropriate curiosity about other people’s stories, especially when they differ from our own. We should be curious about the stories of Jews who come from all over the world and people of other faiths and no faith. We should be curious about the stories of people who are struggling and people who have overcome struggles. Not just during Pride Month, but all year round, we should be curious about the stories of people who represent the full range of gender identities and sexual orientations.
Curiosity, offered with an open heart, ideally without preconditions, offers the possibility of understanding and even celebration. Curiosity opens doors.
I’ve mentioned the TV series Deanna and I have been watching about a group of midwives living and working in England half a century ago. It’s called “Call the Midwife.” One of my favorite characters, an elderly nun named Sister Monica Joan, is the embodiment of the positive impact of curiosity. Though she sometimes gets confused, she has a voracious appetite for reading and exploring. Her curiosity embraces books, songs, food, television and, in generous measure, other people.
Turns out at one point she needs cataract surgery and she’s terrified. Spoiler alert: she gets the surgery and she’s lying in recovery next to another woman who is also recovering. They both have patches on their eyes and therefore cannot see one another. The other woman does not have the same intellectual background Sister Monica Joan. She talks a lot and annoys the Sister at first but then they start to get to know one another better, chatting while recovering.
Sister, the other woman asks, have you ever known a fella? Oh yes, I’ve known two especially well, says Sister Monica Joan. What were their names? the woman asks.
Odysseus and Jason, says Sister Monica Joan, referring to heroes of the ancient Greek mythological tradition that was a mainstay of her intellectual upbringing. Were they local boys? the woman asks. And Sister Monica Joan says, “They were to me.” Her curiosity is a response to the other woman's curiosity. The curiosity of these two women is mutually reinforcing and opens doors between them.
My father (alav hashalom), after retiring from decades working as an accountant and controller, enrolled part-time in a local college and made a point of taking classes he couldn’t take during his undergraduate years. He especially loved a class he took in French literature. He had so much fun telling me about the session on Cyrano de Bergerac in which the professor explained why it’s so hard to translate the play into English. His curiosity also extended to people. He was definitely not an extrovert, but he wanted to understand other people.
It all made a positive impression on me. I could see that his curiosity opened doors for him and those around him. It added to our relationship for sure.
When we transcend the terror of intimidation or the smugness of patronization or the tyranny of immediate relevance, all of which inhibit our natural curiosity, we experience the opening of doors that leads to new worlds, what the kabbalists would call, עלמי עלמיא almei almaya, worlds upon worlds.
On this festival when we celebrate the encounter between God and humanity, I invite us to embrace our natural curiosity about the written word, the spoken word, and the lived word.
When Sister Monica Joan opened her eyes and discovered that she was seeing things she hadn’t seen before, she smiled broadly and exclaimed, “I am alive!!”
The more we seek to know, the more we seek to understand, about Torah in its broadest sense, about the world with all of its mysteries, about one another with all of OUR mysteries, the more fully alive we will feel.
I invite all of us to pursue our curiosity and hope that, in so doing, we will open one door after another.
Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck on Shavuot 5779
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