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Untitled Document
I. Introduction
There are two approaches to the teaching of
arts in the Jewish Day School. The simple addition of separate
courses in music, creative writing, dance, film, drama, painting,
and art history will enliven the student day and provide tuneful
and colorful assemblies, but it will not teach any art at a level
above that of the dilettante. If a school simply wants to provide
an outlet for student creativity, let it provide an hour or two a
week for music or drawing. If the education committee or some other
curriculum setting body of a Jewish day school decides to teach the
arts seriously, to make the arts a central and crucial part of
education, and to make them integral to Jewish education, this
committee must also recognize the inadequacy of such an approach
and face the major changes in the day school program that such a
decision requires. It may also, in all but very large schools, have
to make a decision on what arts to teach.
My fourteen-year experience in Jewish day
schools teaching English, creative writing, Jewish history, and
philosophy has convinced me that the arts can be taught, can become
a vital and liberating elements in student lives, and can reach
high aesthetic levels. My own students have written poems and
stories of publishable quality, and a few have indeed been
published. Many have decided on careers in writing and have been
successful in university writing workshops. In this
essay I wish to present a model of arts
teaching, my own per fas et nefas, and attempt to draw some limited conclusions from
it. My examples are taken entirely from high school experience, but
may be applicable, with suitable modification, to middle or lower
school settings.
The elements out of which an arts program at a
Jewish day school must be formed are: a decision to have arts in
the school; an art or arts; a teacher or teachers; students; a
milieu. I shall deal with these in order. As will be clear, the
teacher is surely the most important of these elements.
II. Why Art? Why
Jewish Art?
The need for beauty—however defined and
however useless— is universal. Beauty is, of course,
available outside of school. Many students want to take music and
art classes, to attend movies, plays, and concerts of various
kinds. The Jewish day school with its double curriculum makes such
outside activities difficult to take in, and so the school usually
undertakes to replace some of them with curricular activities in
the arts. In doing so, the Jewish day school only imitates the
offerings of public schools, many of which are not replacements for
lost opportunities but enrichment for culturally deprived student
populations.
We expect that somehow these courses will
acquire a Jewish aura, perhaps by atmospheric
I. Introduction
There are two approaches to the teaching of
arts in the Jewish Day School. The simple addition of separate
courses in music, creative writing, dance, film, drama, painting,
and art history will enliven the student day and provide tuneful
and colorful assemblies, but it will not teach any art at a level
above that of the dilettante. If a school simply wants to provide
an outlet for student creativity, let it provide an hour or two a
week for music or drawing. If the education committee or some other
curriculum setting body of a Jewish day school decides to teach the
arts seriously, to make the arts a central and crucial part of
education, and to make them integral to Jewish education, this
committee must also recognize the inadequacy of such an approach
and face the major changes in the day school program that such a
decision requires. It may also, in all but very large schools, have
to make a decision on what arts to teach.
My fourteen-year experience in Jewish day
schools teaching English, creative writing, Jewish history, and
philosophy has convinced me that the arts can be taught, can become
a vital and liberating elements in student lives, and can reach
high aesthetic levels. My own students have written poems and
stories of publishable quality, and a few have indeed been
published. Many have decided on careers in writing and have been
successful in university writing workshops. In this essay I wish to
present a model of arts teaching, my own per fas et nefas, and attempt
to draw some limited conclusions from it. My examples are taken
entirely from high school experience, but may be applicable, with
suitable modification, to middle or lower school settings.
The elements out of which an arts program at a
Jewish day school must be formed are: a decision to have arts in
the school; an art or arts; a teacher or teachers; students; a
milieu. I shall deal with these in order. As will be clear, the
teacher is surely the most important of these elements.
II. Why Art? Why
Jewish Art?
The need for beauty—however defined and
however useless— is universal. Beauty is, of course,
available outside of school. Many students want to take music and
art classes, to attend movies, plays, and concerts of various
kinds. The Jewish day school with its double curriculum makes such
outside activities difficult to take in, and so the school usually
undertakes to replace some of them with curricular activities in
the arts. In doing so, the Jewish day school only imitates the
offerings of public schools, many of which are not replacements for
lost opportunities but enrichment for culturally deprived student
populations.
We expect that somehow these courses will
acquire a Jewish aura, perhaps by atmospheric adhesion. And we are
surprised when many of our students, and among them often the most
talented and committed to art, resist the inclusion of any Jewish
content. (Choirs are an exception. Students associate choirs with
synagogue services. There does tend to be considerably more
interest in singing in a choir than listening to one.) But poetry
writing based on midrash goes nowhere; paintings based on Jewish ritual are
recognized as kitsch; music on supposedly Jewish themes tends either towards
the raucous (Carlebach influenced, perhaps) or the lugubrious. The
other arts suffer similarly.
Many years ago, a student of mine who was
enrolled in my Jewish thought class remonstrated with me saying in
effect that "Jewish thought" was the equivalent of
absurdly saying "Canadian mathematics." This is not
accurate, but there is something to it. Similarly, students wish to
make art, not Jewish art.
If students are given two hours a week to make
art, they accomplish little. What little they do make is praised
extravagantly, but the gifted students are embarrassed by this;
they know we who praise are either dishonest or ignorant. Or, far
worse, they may believe us, in which case we possibly have done
serious damage to a developing sense of taste and judgment. The
walls of the school become large refrigerator doors, on which
doting parents will put anything. Teachers and administrators
express regret at the failure of students to listen carefully to
other students' music. But they are criticizing manners rather than
judgment.
People who have heard this before point out
that our students are not artists (at least not yet) or that even
the semblance of artistic achievement adds greatly to the
environment of the school. They add that art must be open to all
students and that insistence on excellence in product—rather
than eagerness in production—is harmful to the egos of the
less talented. There is some obvious truth in this, yet the result
is mediocrity. I have seen superb student work, listened to
excellent student music, read poems and stories of fine sensibility
and style. Perhaps the arts might be offered on two levels: one for
those willing to make the serious effort that producing quality
requires, and one for those who prefer to dabble.
But what is Jewish art? It is art that emerges
naturally out of the experience of being Jewish. It both defines
that experience and is defined by it. Like most great art, Jewish
art will more criticize than celebrate the culture that frames it.
Sometimes the criticism will be harsh and uncomfortable for the
sponsoring institution. (It is easy to imagine a school sorry it
has initiated a real arts program, or to imagine a school insisting
on celebration. I have experienced this painfully, because people
who have devoted themselves to the community are accused of
ingratitude and lack of judgment.) A highly critical art should be
taken seriously. Obviously, criticism should be neither defamatory
nor obscene.
It is tempting for an institution to encourage
art that only celebrates the institution or that celebrates
Judaism. Schools may want to instrumentalize art, to use painting
as decoration, music as liturgy, or writing as public relations.
This results in bad art, pointless art. Art may be Jewish, but
despite certain romantic claims, it is not religion. The
distinction between art and religion must be rigorously maintained,
or an overemotional religion and a sentimentalized art will rapidly
turn people away from both. Perhaps it is enough to argue against
an ugly Judaism, a Judaism uninformed by the imagination. Judaism
without art is possible; Judaism with art is desirable. But real
art—real Jewish art—is not in any way dependent on the
goodness of the Judaism experienced by the artist. As in all art,
what is needed is the artistic conviction that the subject (in this
case, Judaism) matters, and that one is free to approach it, pen or
brush or chisel in hand, courageously, freely, and without
consideration of what the non-artistic audience makes of it.
The Jewish day school that wants a serious
arts program must accept the results of that program. Its students
already take Judaism seriously, and they must be assured that
Judaism is neither a subject to be sentimentalized nor a subject
that is taboo.
III. Which Art?
It should not matter on which art or arts a
school decides to concentrate. Yet it does matter for a number of
reasons. A school without the facilities to stage dramas might not
want to offer more than a school-play-level of acting courses. A
school with a hundred students altogether will not be able to
assemble a symphony orchestra. Financial considerations may rule
out a film making course that attempts anything more than clever
video. Painting and sculpture, to be serious, require extensive and
permanent studio space. Money will also be a restraint in hiring
teachers. Ten arts teachers, each offering a course or two, will be
a financial burden for which the school will not receive much in
the form of well-educated students in these arts.
Student interest, i.e. the particular
interests of those students actually in attendance at the school,
should be important in choosing which art to teach. A school at
which thirty students are fascinated by jazz should have jazz
ensembles. Yet taking student interest into account, the main
concern should be the danger of trivializing art. A jazz ensemble
that practices an hour a week after school is unlikely to play
important music. I have taught creative writing classes that met
once a week on a come-one-come-all basis. Nothing worthwhile came
out of these.
Perhaps mini-courses, offered in ninth grade,
would help students identify fields of interest. In fact, students
in ninth grade, at least those most likely to attend private
schools, have already found artistic areas they want to engage in,
and probably do engage in. Younger students will need more
guidance. My creative writing group comprises students who have
shown interest in and aptitude for writing in ninth grade or tenth
grade English classes. But my point here is not to suggest in which
arts to specialize so much as to warn against a scattering of
resources. (Creative writing requires no resources but teachers;
drawing and painting require space; music requires instruments and
a sound-buffered space; cinema requires cameras and equipment,
etc.)
IV. The Teacher
A. Results
The teacher is paramount, for if any of the
arts is to receive more than an inadequate two hours a week of the
curriculum, and if the art is to be both at a high level and
Jewish, the teacher must make time for art and students. This
inevitably means evenings, weekends and vacations. The teacher also
must be dedicated to the Jewish experience. Crucially, the teacher
must be a practitioner at a professional level of the art being
taught. But far beyond this, the teacher must understand and pursue
face-to-face encounters with the students so that each is met as a
person who is different from and even able to command the teacher.
The discussion which follows is one that makes
excellence in the arts in the Jewish day school possible. It is
based on my own experience, and on long discussions with other
teachers, with my wife, Susann (who is head of the Hebrew
department at The New Jewish High School of Greater Boston), with
Stephen Horenstein (a great musician and teacher of music), with
other colleagues, and with many of the young men and women in our
classes. It is also heavily influenced by the philosophy of
Emmanuel Levinas, the French-Jewish thinker whose work opened for
me entire worlds of knowledge about religion and human
relationships. It also owes much to a four-year program of careful
weekly reading of Franz Rosenzweig's Star
of Redemption.1
I present a model based on the art of writing,
but I am assuming the model could hold for any art not absolutely
dependant on a particular space or massive equipment. I am a poet
and have published a book of poetry, The Voyage to Gaza, as well as
poems in Israeli, British, and American journals. I have a library
that includes some nine hundred volumes of poetry. A teacher should
not ask his class to do what the teacher cannot, although this is
frequently the case in high school art classes. It is necessary
that the teacher of any art be a practitioner of that art. When,
recently, the opportunity arose to hire an additional teacher, I
was delighted to suggest to the administration a young poet, Sean
Singer, who has since won the Yale Younger Poets prize. Among the
tasks of an ongoing commitment to the arts is developing a faculty.
The teacher must meet his or her students and
this requires a long time. Classes must be small and their number
should be limited. At the school at which I teach and whose
headmaster is determined to include the arts in the curriculum, a
full position requires that teachers meet four classes, three times
a week each. Classes average fifteen students. (Other duties
include counseling, proctoring, many meetings, and more, some of
them only peripherally related to students.) Real learning in the
arts is perforce carried out elsewhere.
I will describe where I've gotten thus far. If
this is not the aim of the program, it does not matter how it was
achieved. If it is, the reader may follow the discussion of
methodology afterwards.
On a recent weekend, when the students were on
vacation, six students (in addition to my own two children)
gathered at my home for Shabbat. The previous week I had bought the collected
poetry of Czeslaw Milosz, received poetry magazines in the mail,
and was reading Albert Goldbarth's Saving
Lives. I had printed a New York Times
book review of Brodsky's Nativity Poems. Students brought stories and poems they had
written that week, and I presented a few poems I had written that
week. We sang Shabbat songs, and talked both about Shabbat and about writing. I spoke of alienation of the
Jewish writer, and of the non-Jews Milosz and Nabokov. We were
amused that, in a review of Brodsky's work that concentrated on his
alienation as a Russian writer in New York, not a word was written
about the alienation inherent in that Jewish poet writing nativity
poems. After synagogue on Shabbat morning, others joined us and we continued the
discussion. There were no lessons and no class, no homework and no
assignments. There was some critical reading and suggestions were
made about reworking texts after Shabbat. After a short nap and havdalah, most of the students went to a movie.
A similar scene, sometimes with a larger
number of students, occurs most weekends at our house. Sometimes
other faculty members join us. Every Tuesday night from 8:00 to 10:
00 PM, student writers gather there for a workshop in writing. This
is not an official extra-curricular activity; no one pays to attend
or is paid to host. No attendance is taken and no one is turned
away, yet all understand that no one comes Tuesday night who has
not been invited. In addition to the usual workshop activities—critiques
of work in progress—the group has undertaken a resurrection
of the poetry of Berl Pomeranz, a Polish-Jewish poet killed by the
Germans in 1942. A neighbor showed my wife the poetry, which was
beautiful but written in difficult pre-Israeli Hebrew. Many members
of the group are engaged in rendering this into good English
poetry. In the process, they are also learning much about Jewish
life in the 1920s and 1930s in central Europe, but that is not, of
course, the objective.
Altogether, about thirty-five students have
participated in the workshops. (Homework and teenage social life
prevent completely regular attendance for many students.)
Approximately twenty other students have come for weekends. In a
school with two hundred twenty students, this represents a sizable
percentage. Some of these people come from far away. There is no
cost to the school for this program. My wife and I joyfully supply
soft drinks and snack food.
There is considerable carry-over from these
sessions to the time actually spent in school. The atmosphere in
class is friendly and relaxed, and those who have participated in
the writing sessions start discussions, which other students
readily join. Writing is recognized as a crucial human activity
with both ethical and aesthetic elements. References in class to
Judaism are accepted as integral to learning English language and
literature, rather than examples of the school fostering its own
agenda. Because other faculty members often take part, these desiderata also
take place in classes other than my own, and in courses other than
English.
B. Methods
My purpose in September is to meet my
students. I do not mean that I set out to learn their names or to
determine their level of academic preparation, although I of course
do so. Rather, I meet each one willing to meet me privately after
class or in the hallways. (We have no offices, but even if we did
they would be questionably efficient places to meet.) I meet my
students as people, not simply as students. In other words, I
insist that Sam must respond as Sam, Rachel as Rachel. I set the
genus "student" aside. This is not easy: It means also
setting aside the genus "teacher" while still maintaining
dignity and commanding respect. One respects Sam or Rachel and is
exquisitely careful to maintain the dignity of each.
I do not know if this can be taught.
Certainly, it cannot be taught as a set of learned behaviors.
Levinas refers to this, and were this a scholarly paper, I would
fill these pages with footnotes. One must see Rachel defenseless,
and Sam in all of his vulnerability. The teacher needs to set aside
all of his or her own wants, including the desire to educate, in
order simply to listen to the child. Only the person I face can
have an agenda; I must not.
In practice this means that if Rachel has
written a paper about cars, I talk to her about cars, not about
writing. If she has written a paper mocking people who have
inexpensive cars, I do not offer a lesson in humility and human
decency. These things—bad writing or bad economics—are
not Rachel. After a few such talks and after we have also gotten to
know one another in the give and take of class discussion, I shall
invite Rachel and a few other students for Shabbat. I find that
after a short time of consistently inviting students, I have
acquired a positive reputation and students such as Rachel agree to
join us. Even when I first realized that I could teach this way,
not too many invitations were required before people accepted. The
word spread that weekends at our house were both relaxing and
stimulating—and the food was good. We keep a traditional
Sabbath, yet allow people to sleep late and not attend synagogue,
if that is their preference. We do not drive on Shabbat, yet we allow the
freedom to come and go.
At the house we speak of writing and writers,
religion and philosophy, aesthetics and ethics. The family is
"functional," and we talk freely to each other and to the
subject of conversation. We help each other. I suggest these be
prerequisites for teaching arts at a Jewish day school, and not
simply be assumed. People must want to be a part of what the
teachers present, not represent. We cannot always do this.
Sometimes we are tired; sometimes we need time to ourselves;
sometimes we need time to withdraw into ourselves. On such
occasions, only advanced students are invited, people who know us
well.
Rachel knows, as does Sam and her other
classmates, that when I find a paper, a poem, a story or a script
worthy of serious interest, I may invite the author to the Tuesday
night workshop. My main consideration in this high school setting
is that a person not be required to subject his work to criticism
when the artist simply will not bear such scrutiny. I want no one
embarrassed.
A few problems inevitably arise. Some of my
colleagues who consider themselves "progressive" accuse
me and those who join me of elitism. This should not be an
impediment, as long as the work and meetings take place off campus
and are not official extracurricular activities. This is the
concomitant. (Analogously, not everyone gets a lead part in a
school play, nor starts on the basketball team.) Far more serious
problem are the demands such an approach makes on the teacher and
his or her family. I have been rightly told that this model is
inapplicable to many teachers, for it requires a large place for
meeting, that the teacher lead a densely Jewish life and be
actively pursuing an art, and finally, that the teacher be willing
and able do these things independent of any pedagogic purpose.
An aside: The teacher described here must not
be charismatic. The purpose is always the making of art and Jewish
community. Students must follow their own interests and purpose,
their own art, and not be seduced by the interests, purposes and
art of a charismatic leader.
Above all, the teacher must have humility
regarding time. The people befriended are given the right to make
inordinate demands on the teacher's time. The student's work is
primary, and this means that sometimes the teacher must stop his
activity when a student asks for his time. This means papers are
sometimes graded late, and that the teacher's own creative work is
sometimes set aside. I find however, that people are considerate
more often than not. A greater problem occurs when a student
attempts to make the teacher his parent. Some students have
difficult parents and understandably seek substitutes, and this
must be avoided. Parents quite rightly judge, but the relationship
between artists is, except where art is concerned, nonjudgmental.
Other students need the teacher as a friend, and this can be done
carefully. I remain in close contact with students who have not
been in my classes for a decade and more.
Of course, this model is not peculiar to the
arts. I have known teachers of German, Talmud and English
literature who enriched their students' lives and greatly increased
their students' knowledge in such fashion. But it seems it is a
model essential to the arts in the Jewish day school, since there
is insufficient time during school to accomplish much of value.
In summary and in an attempt to generalize
what is in fact a highly personal account: The teacher must be an
artist. The teacher needs to have leisure to create and leisure to
meet students. The teacher must be deeply engaged in Judaism, and
must have personal commitments to the students who he or she
encounters in and out of class.
C. Staffing
The music teacher who has two sections as a
part time job cannot be the teacher described above. That teacher
is running from workplace to workplace, somehow accumulating the
money needed for living. In high-expense areas (such as Boston)
even a full time position may pay less than needed, and many of my
colleagues have additional evening classes in the area.
If the arts are to flourish, arts teachers
must be able to devote themselves completely to the students in
their classes and make themselves available to people interested in
the arts. There are ways to accomplish this. The arts teacher who
teaches two classes may be given administrative duties. He or she
may be placed in charge of a wide range of extracurricular
activities. Money may even be raised with the goal of establishing
residencies in the arts. Somehow, the teacher must be provided the
time and income such that he or she can afford this. No one is
going to learn sculpture from a teacher who is at school two hours
a week and has no time to speak leisurely with students, or to meet
in depth the other people at the school.
Hiring such teachers is difficult. The artist
hired must already be engaged in the activities described above or
eager to be so engaged. The administration must go beyond the
professionalism generally sought and concentrate on people for whom
both teaching and artistic production are vocations. The teacher's
family needs to support and enable such community. The teachers
must be people for whom this is life, not just a job. Life and
necessity are not steps towards something else, and the teacher
should consider this work as his highest position.
Under practical pressures, there is an
understandable tendency in staffing to fill slots, to make certain
before anything else is considered that all courses will be offered
and will be taught by people with the proper degrees and
credentials and experience. It would be better not to offer a
program in the arts unless a teacher similar to the one I have
described here is available. This means that searches may take a
year or two, and conditions of employment may have to be
personalized and arranged in nontraditional ways. If so, the
results will come.
As I write this, I have received notice that a
former student of mine, Miri Gilad from Beer Sheva, has published
new poems. I remember her fondly, as well as the publication of her
first book that she wrote in Hebrew after taking my courses in
writing and poetry. I am as happy for her as I ever am over any of
my own writing, and this is necessary. All of this may sound
impossible; yet it is actual.
V. The Students
A. Who They Are
Not every student relates to the arts in
general, or to any particular art. Some students cannot comprehend
investment in art that pays no readily materializable return.
Others simply lack ability, although it is rare that a person will
have no talent for any art at all. In a dual-curriculum,
high-quality Jewish day school, more students lack the requisite
time. Such people may be convinced that art is as important as
achieving all A's on a report card, but generally not until tenth
or eleventh grades. Some students are so suspicious of faculty (or
perhaps any adult) interest in them that they cannot speak (or
write) freely and honestly. Yet when taken together, such students
are a minority.
Most of the remaining students do nothing
particularly interesting in any art. Often bad paintings are
painted and praised; bad music is written and played and lauded;
bad writing is produced and approved. Many of those people who
attend Tuesday night and Shabbat sessions write extremely well, but they spend
the requisite time and assign the requisite importance to their
writing. Our school is fortunate in having an excellent drama
teacher who elicits fine performances from students, but time
permits training students only for particular roles, not teaching
them what acting is. Many students are aware of this mediocrity.
Some, alas, are taken in by the praise and then resist real
criticism. Such students are usually lost to art even if
temporarily.
An interesting phenomenon is the student
"hanger-on." Any number of people come on Tuesday nights
or Shabbat
who do not write. Some have been invited as writers, but have lost
interest in writing, have no time to write, would rather be engaged
in another art, are interested in the Judaic but not the artistic
elements of the experience, or simply enjoy the community. I
encourage such students to continue to come. There is, after all,
more to life than art, and they provide an audience—and
artists need the opportunity to educate an appreciative audience.
People who have been writing with us for years naturally tend to
stay in touch after graduation. Frequently, on vacations from
college or after college, they attend Tuesday nights or Sabbaths
when they are in the area. But the hangers-on do also, and I
welcome them as warmly. On a recent Shabbat, five former students from Michigan, New York and
Massachusetts visited; only one is a writer. This is an ongoing
Jewish community that has been gathering members for many years.
The Jewish community is not necessarily dependent on geographic
closeness or on frequent meeting. The community of Jews, like the
community of artists, includes many members who are dead. There is
an ongoing dialogue among rabbis living and dead, as there is among
writers past and present.
B. Love
The community is based on love. The
relationships within the community are not, of course, in any way
erotic, even if two members have romantic feelings towards each
other outside the community. I use "love" as Levinas used
it, i.e. in the sense of people who recognize a selfless
responsibility for other people. I am responsible for the good of
each member of the group without regard for any benefit I may
derive from the other person or from the group. There is no short
way to explain this, and I refer the interested reader to Levinas'essay
"Substitution."
VI. The Milieu
The school, and particularly the school
administration, must support excellence in the arts. This
excellence in the arts must be valued as highly as academic
excellence. Schools need to move away from praising simple
activity, the appearance of creativity. Thus, students who want to
take no part in the production of art or have demonstrated a lack
of ability to produce art should be encouraged to take art history
classes or classes in music appreciation.
Somehow the school must also find a way to
reward the large amount of time the arts faculty will spend with
students away from the school. This is difficult to quantify and
may be highly variable. Schools should provide forums at which
excellent art is presented. These must not be open to whoever feels
like presenting something he or she has done. The school's literary
magazine must be selective, and publication in it a just source of
pride. Art should be hung on walls or in classrooms only if it has
high aesthetic merit. Student music should be played only when it
does not sound like student music.
Artists in the school community should be
provided with adequate meeting space. Should they feel the need,
they should be excused from class on occasion, as student athletes
are now. If possible, they should be allowed to take classes
together even in non-art courses, because they will have points of
view about these courses that they will want to share and discuss.
Schools should recognize that, whereas no student is likely to make
an academic breakthrough in physics or history, young people can
and do produce art of great merit. These artists must be treated as
productive adults, not mere apprentices. It should also be
recognized that the discipline of the arts will sometimes take
precedence over more usual forms of discipline, and an artist in
school must be allowed to shape his or her schedule and work ethic.
Many school administrations will find this difficult, but the
alternative in practice is often that the young artist feels
alienated from the school and eventually leaves it, either
willingly or at the school's insistence.
VII. Conclusion
Given the students and teachers depicted here,
art will happen in the Jewish day school. More art and better art
will happen if the rest of the terms are met. By far the greatest
difficulty is finding teachers. A school that then treasures and
cares for such teachers will keep them, and the school will
flourish in Judaism, in criticism and in celebration.
* I am indebted to my children Idit and Eitan, whose
insights, patience and responses over the past ten years have helped me
formulate the ideas presented here
1I gratefully acknowledge Rabbi Eliezer Cohen of Oak
Park, Michigan, whose acuity and wisdom aided me in working through
Rosenzweig's text.
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